


Enjolras in Love

by Vingtieme



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Anal Sex, Greek and Roman Mythology - Freeform, Hand Jobs, M/M, Underage Sex, Young Combeferre, Young Enjolras, aristocrat!Enjolras
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-13
Updated: 2013-05-13
Packaged: 2017-12-11 17:28:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/801259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vingtieme/pseuds/Vingtieme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young aristocrat!Enjolras AU, but period. </p><p>Enjolras comes from a wealthy family in Provence. The story begins in his early childhood and, as he grows up, he discovers his political views, and makes mischief wherever possible. At boarding school, he meets Combeferre and, over the next few years, their friendship blossoms into love.</p><p>Rated for the later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Young Julien

Young Julien awoke to a crack of thunder and a flash of lightning. The shutters slammed open to reveal the torrential downpour outside. The trees were bending so that they looked as if at any moment they might snap. Julien was a very young child, hardly four, and he was terribly frightened. He cowered beneath the blankets, hoping for some measure of protection, but the next boom of thunder was enough to send him flying out into the corridor.

The child scampered down the hall in a state of panic, tears streaming down his face. Out of the corner of his eye, Julien spotted a light peeping under the door of the drawing room. Hoping desperately that it was not his father sitting awake, he crept into the room. To his relief, he found that it was his mother sitting in the high backed armchair in front of the drawing room fire. She did not notice him as he walked in, and he approached her quietly. She was in her dressing gown, and did not appear to have been doing anything in particular – just staring into the flickering light and thinking. Her face was bathed in the soft, warm glow of the flames. In that moment, young Julien thought that his mother was the most beautiful thing in the world – her delicate features and her soft blond curls cascading over one shoulder. Her bright and thoughtful eyes. And she was always so much _kinder_ than Pére. He loved her very dearly.

“Julien, my darling,” his mother said tenderly, only slightly surprised as he padded, barefoot, into view. “What are you doing up so late, cheri?”

There was a flash of lighting and a clap of thunder, and the rain seemed to pound ever harder upon the roof. Julien jumped in fright. Madame Enjolras beckoned her sniffling, wide-eyed child closer, and he gratefully climbed into her lap, attempting to drown his fear in the folds of her dressing gown. She drew him to her, and Julien buried his face into her neck and breathed in her scent: clean and soft – like a cloud. Thunder rumbled once again in the distance and he trembled in fright, then nuzzled deeper into his mother’s hold, clinging to her with all his might.

“Oh, my sweet,” she murmured, stroking her child’s sweet blonde ringlets. “Hush, do not be afraid.” She cooed and stroked Julien, and held him close. Gradually, he felt himself relax into her warmth – her peace and calm. He felt safe enough to begin to doze. All too soon, however, Madame Enjolras shook her Julien gently awake, and told him they must return to bed. Julien looked decidedly out of sorts, so his mother offered him an appeasement.

“Now, Julien,” she whispered, her voice sparkling with life, “would you like some warm milk?”

“Oui, Maman,” Julien replied eagerly. And he felt himself privy to a great secret as they crept down to the kitchens, and Julien’s mother fixed his milk herself.

Madame Enjolras had never grown accustomed to servants to attend to her every need. She grew up a simple farm girl – the only reason Monsieur Enjolras had married her was her incredible beauty. She, of course, had married him because it was quite the done thing. If an affluent young nobleman asked your hand in marriage, not a single flicker of doubt would cross your mind. You married him for the betterment of everyone you knew and loved. You married him for the sake of your children and your children’s children. You married him because you could live a comfortable life, if not a happy one. You married him because there was no other choice. Madame Enjolras’ one regret was that she was not allowed a hand in running her own home. She knew how to be a good wife, and she would have sorely liked to be able to do it, but it was not how a respectable upper-class woman was supposed to behave.

 Sometimes, though, she would tell her son fantasies about living in a happy little cottage by the sea where everything was true and good. Both mother and child longed for such a place, and it was something they could share when they were together like this, in the middle of the night. So, because Madame Enjolras could not have what she really wanted, she made do with doing small things for the people she loved. Like heating some milk for her son instead of allowing the maid to do it. Her husband would constantly insist that she learn her place, but she knew where she really belonged.

Julien drank his milk and his mother took him to bed, tucked him in and lulled him to sleep with dreams of their cottage by the sea. Julien never feared a storm again.


	2. Henri

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Julien meets Henri.

.

Time passed and Julien was sent off to school. He did not like it a bit. He missed his home in Provence: the beautiful sunny shores; his horse, Gabriel; his tutor, Monsieur Verdoux, with whom he always had such fun arguing; and his dear, lovely mother.

            He did not like the way the Jesuits taught, and he did not like their views. Even at the tender age of 13 he was beginning to become skeptical of organized religion. He learned about the government in school, and he thought it profoundly unfair.

            One day, he took it upon himself to protest. They were talking about the history of the Bourbons in class, and the priest was spouting his usual propaganda.

            “Enjolras,” barked the priest in one of his periodical pop quizzes to see who was paying attention, “On what date did Louis XIV revoke the Edict of Nantes?”

           “On the 18th of October 1685,” replied young Julien drolly. He knew French history backwards and forwards, and it was just as boring as it was infuriating. “Tyrant,” he muttered under his breath. Unfortunately, the priest heard.

            “Excuse me, Enjolras,” the teacher said in almost stark disbelief, “but _what_ did you just call The Sun King?”

            “You heard what I said!” cried Julien, jumping to his feet in a fury. “Louis XIV, your precious “Sun King” was a bloody tyrant! Not only that, but he betrayed his dead father by undoing the great strides he’d made in the right direction! Complete religious intolerance?! How is that right, or good, or just?! A child, taking the throne at age 4, and thinking he can do whatever he wants, that’s what he was! How could that kind of thinking have possibly helped France?! The whole system is completely corrupt!”

            “You have the audacity to – ?!” the priest choked out, absolutely livid, and he took Julien by the ear and dragged him to the headmaster’s office, where he was sentenced to three weeks detention and a letter to his father.

            Julien had a difficult time after that. He simply couldn’t contain some of his outbursts, and he was constantly getting himself into trouble. The problem was, he knew he was right. He couldn’t just lie back and watch as injustices were committed. So, he continued on fighting for what he believed in.

            The younger boys began to see Julien as a leader, and he began to attract the attention of many of the older boys as well. Unfortunately, this variety of attention was not particularly welcome.

            The reader must understand that, at a boys’ boarding school, where no girls are available, the students often turn to one another to satisfy their… urges. Julien, with his lovely golden curls, big blue eyes, plump cherubic lips, flushed cheeks, and lithe figure, was perfect prey for an older boy.

            Julien had noticed for a while now the way the older boys looked at him, and he did not like it at all. He was seeking an avid listener to his ideology, but instead he found hungry stares and secretive smiles. It was enough to give him gooseflesh. Occasionally the boys would brush against his hand or tap his shoulder to gain his attention and, as time went on, the unnecessary touches increased. On a couple of occasions, he thought he felt one or two pinches to his bottom as he walked down a crowded corridor.

            One cloudy afternoon in early March, Julien was trudging through a dark corner of the courtyard by himself, on his way to the next building to serve his latest detention when, suddenly, he was accosted by Didier Chenonceaux, a 16-year-old who often attended Julien’s seditious tirades in the Grosvenor House common room. Julien did not like Chenonceaux. He was a big lad who often bullied the other boys into giving him what he wanted. Consequently, he tried to avoid Didier by swerving around a corner down the back way, an alley between buildings. But he could not shake his pursuer.

            “Bonjour, Enjolras!” Chenonceaux called, approaching swiftly and cornering Julien in the dark alleyway.

            “Bonjour, Chenonceaux, but I really must be going. I mustn’t be late for detention.” Julien replied politely, attempting to skirt around his obstacle. Wrong move.

            Chenonceaux shoved Julien roughly against the stone wall. “Chenonceaux!” Julien protested, “What are you – ?!”

            Julien was silenced by a greedy mouth upon his. His eyes widened in surprise. For a shocked moment he could not move. Then he began to struggle. He tried to shove Didier away, but his attacker would not yield. He kicked and hit and bit, and screamed for help, but could not escape the clutches of a boy three years older and much stronger than he was.

            Didier was breathing hard and he rubbed his arousal against Julien. Julien shuddered in horror. “I always knew you’d be a feisty one,” the horrible boy panted in our dear Julien’s ear, and he began to trail his tongue up the younger boy’s neck. Julien screamed more desperately, throat raw and tears streaming down his cheeks. He moved to knee Didier in the groin, but the older boy sensed the movement, and pushed Julien down to the ground, pinning his legs and arms. Julien sobbed loudly. _This is it_ , he thought. _I’m done for_.

            _Thwack,_ came the sound as someone hit Didier over the head with a board. Julien’s attacker crumpled sideways onto the ground, and Julien wriggled his legs out from under the deadweight of Chenonceaux’s legs, which had fallen across his own. As soon as he was free he jumped to his feet and scrambled out of reach. Then, he peered through his tears at his savior.

            He was a dark-haired, bespectacled boy around his own age. Julien thought he had seen him in some of his classes. He presently remembered the body lying on the ground.

            “Is he dead?” he asked the other boy through heaving breaths, hearing his voice shake.

            “No. He’s still breathing.” The boy approached Julien slowly and cautiously, as one would an injured animal, holding his arm out tentatively as if to test the air before him. He peered kindly into Julien’s eyes and said gently, just as his hand lightly touched a shaking shoulder, “Are you alright?”

            Julien realized he was trembling all over. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, and he was beginning to hyperventilate. He started to nod yes, but blackness was closing in, and he couldn’t remain on his feet. “No,” he said, and immediately fell into a dead faint. Fortunately, his new friend was there to catch him.

            Julien awoke to a darkened infirmary, lit only by a few lamps on various bedside tables, including his own. He reached up to rub his eyes, and noticed there were scabs on his left cheek and chin, presumably from being scraped against stone. His entire body felt sore and weak, and the back of his head throbbed from being slammed into things, but otherwise he felt alright. The only thing wrong with him at present seemed to be that he was absolutely parched. He peered around into the blackness to locate an attendant of some sort, and there, in the chair next to his bed, dozed the boy who had saved him earlier that day. He reached out to grab the jug of water and empty glass that had been set on the bedside table, but clumsily knocked over the glass with a thud. It did not shatter, but it was enough to wake his sleeping companion.

            “I’m sorry,” whispered Julien. “I did not mean to wake you.”

            “S’quite alright,” the boy said, voice still a bit thick with sleep. “I did not mean to fall asleep.”

“Say, what is your name?”

“Henri Combeferre, at your service.” He smiled kindly. “And, technically, I _am_ at your service. It took a bit of doing to get them to let me stay here. But I _had_ to stay here. _He’s_ here too, and I needed to protect you. I told them I wanted to be a doctor when I grew up, so I may as well start learning now. They told me that if I wanted to stay, I’d have to make myself useful. So here I am.” At this, he poured water into the glass for Julien, and handed it to him.

“ _Merci_ , Combeferre” said Julien, taking a sip. “…And thank you for saving me. I am forever in your debt. My name is – ”

“Oh, no need. I know who you are. Everyone knows who you are. You’re Julien Enjolras.”

Julien blushed. There was a long, thoughtful silence. “Do you know what will happen?”

Anyone else would have taken this question as overly vague, and asked for clarification, but Combeferre knew what Julien meant.

“No,” he said. “I hurt him quite badly, but my father has a good lawyer if he decides to sue. I was in the right, anyway. I couldn’t have simply sat back and let him…” They sat in silence for a while, both anxiously dwelling what could have happened. But it was too painful for Julien, and he changed the subject.

“Combeferre, you’re in my year, correct?”

“Yes, and I know what you’re thinking. We probably don’t know each other very well because we don’t board in the same house. I live in Edouard Hall, and you live in Grosvenor House, right?” Julien nodded. It made sense.

“You should go to bed. I’ll be alright here.” Julien did not want to trouble his new friend.

Combeferre replied with a surprising amount of force. “No!” then lowered his voice glancing around to see if anyone had awoken. “I won’t leave you anywhere near him!” he whispered with purpose.

Julien was flattered, and comforted at having a friend by his side. And, if he was honest with himself, he did not think he would feel safe in the infirmary with Combeferre gone, knowing that Chenonceaux was sleeping near. “Fine, then. At least come to bed, and be a little more comfortable.” Combeferre hesitated for a moment, then kicked off his shoes, set his spectacles on the bedside table, and climbed into the bed with Julien.

As they drifted off to sleep, Julien heard a murmur in his ear. “Call me Henri.”

He smiled and sighed, “Only if you will call me Julien.” And Julien slept more peacefully than he would have if his mother had tucked him into bed with a mug of warm milk.


	3. Cheverny

During the next few months, the boys became inseparable. Henri’s reputation spread, and the older boys stopped harassing Julien for fear of the slim brunette boy’s wrath. Julien soon found that Henri’s political views were as radical as his own were, and they spent long hours discussing the state of France, and how they would change it when they were men.

            All too soon, the term was over, and the boys had to be separated, going back home to their families for the summer. They wrote to each other every week, and it was not long before they were back at school. This year, they were both in the same house, and at age 14 (for they both had summer birthdays), they were considered in the class of the older boys.

           In the higher grades, lessons began to focus more on classicist literature, art, etc. in pursuit of cultural literacy. Julien and Henri learned about ancient Greece and Rome, and began to learn Greek and Latin. It was something that Julien had always been interested in, especially the law codes, and Henri was fascinated by their anatomy lectures.

            Their favourite professor was Monsieur Cheverny. Monsieur Cheverny had such an exuberant, lively air about him that neither Julien nor Henri thought anyone on earth could dislike him. He was their history professor, and he was an excellent one. He questioned his students, and made them think. It was not uncommon for Julien and Henri to be seen lingering after class, asking question after question, or still caught up in an energetic debate. He was their role model and, though Monsieur Cheverny would never admit it (for he was not allowed to have favourites), the teacher had taken quite a liking to the youths as well.

            One day, after class, Monsieur Cheverny had a proposition for the boys. “How would you two like to go on a little field trip, just you and I?” The boys looked at each other and grinned, then gave rapt attention to their teacher, to see where this was going. “Now, three tickets to _The Myrmidons_ have come into my possession, and I can think of no one I would like to take better than the two of you.” Cheverny smiled his warm-hearted, good-natured smile, and continued. “This play is a very old one, written in ancient Grecian times. It is about The Trojan War. Do you know the story?”

            Both boys nodded vigorously. “Oui Monsieur,” said Henri excitedly. “Achilles refuses to fight and then his best friend Patroclus goes to fight in his place and gets killed!”

            Julien continued. “Achilles is so angry that he vows revenge. So, although he knows his death will soon follow, he avenges his friend and kills Hector!”

            Monsieur Cheverny smiled gladly at the boys’ enthusiasm, but his expression soon turned grave. “Now boys, I must confess something. The translation that the school provides is slightly skewed.” Both boys looked up curiously. “Now you must promise not to tell.” The boys nodded solemnly, looked at each other, and said, “We promise.”

“Alright. The story that you know tells of Achilles’ anger over losing a _friend_. But have you ever thought that it seemed strange that he did not vow to avenge any of his other friends killed in battle?”

Julien looked thoughtful. “No, Monsieur, I had not considered this…”

Cheverny heaved a great sigh, frustrated with the world for censoring such a great piece of history, and taking away its true meaning. He knew he should not be telling these boys, but he almost felt that he must. He had been watching them over the past few months, and every day he grew more certain that their relationship would turn out to be something… _more_ than friendship. Those boys were compatible down to their very souls. Even if they did not realize it yet, they soon would. He did not want these boys growing up confused about their emotions, or thinking they were wrong. He did not want them to suffer… as he had… “Well… perhaps… Achilles loved Patroclus better than all of his other friends…” he suggested, adopting his usual teaching approach.

The boys considered this, and then Henri spoke, puzzled, “Why that does not sound like Achilles. He would not have favoured one comrade above another, would he?”

“No, I do not think that he would have. But… what if Patroclus was _not_ just a comrade? Not _just_ a friend?” Cheverny prompted, hoping the boys would come to the conclusion on their own. He was a teacher, after all. It was in his nature.

Julien shook his blonde head. “Monsieur, I do not understand. What, then, was Patroclus to the Great Achilles?”

“Perhaps it would help if I showed you the _original_ translation.” Cheverny unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk and took out a tatter old volume. He flipped to a page that would prove his point, and let the boys look. What they read was at first familiar. They had read the story in literature class, after all. But as they read on, their eyes grew wide with realization. Julien looked up first, his face flushed.

“Monsieur… it says here that they were…”

“Lovers, yes. I wanted you boys to know the truth. Achilles and Patroclus loved each other, with all their hearts and souls. And no one should have ever taken that away from them, especially not some rotten government-censored translator. It ruins the story, and makes Achilles’ pain seem so frivolous and far-fetched. It is not right. And they were not the only ones. I will give you more to read if you wish. Harmodios and Aristogeiton. Apollo and Hyacinth. Orestes and Pylades. Nisus and Euryalus. And there are many, many more subjects about which the King wishes his subjects would remain ignorant. Just promise not to get caught reading these books, or we will all be in trouble.”

Henri and Julien simply nodded solemnly. They all sat in silence for a while, brooding over what had passed between them, and how it must never come to light. Finally, Cheverny spoke.

“Now, as to the play. The Head has agreed to let me take you two out to see it, seeing as you are my best students. But he does not realize that we will be attending an underground, uncensored performance. Please do not speak of it.” At this he smile reassuringly. “It will be just between us. Promise?”

The boys grinned, excited at the prospect of rebelling against the much-hated authorities. “We promise.”


	4. The Play

The night of the play came, and the boys were practically bursting with excitement. They felt that they were involved in something important – it was a grand statement against the crown. They felt as if they were finally getting somewhere.

            Henri was not quite finished dressing when Julien burst in, looking absolutely dashing in a brand new sapphire blue waistcoat that perfectly complimented his beautiful complexion. Overcome with the joy of the occasion, Julien swept across to Henri and greeted him with an exuberant _bissous_.

            Henri blushed at how close his bare chest (for his shirt had not yet been buttoned) had come to Julien. _Beautiful Julien_. Wait – had he just thought that? _I mean, he is very good looking, but –_

            Flustered, Henri misbuttoned his shirt, and Julien reached out to help. Not trusting himself to make the right move, Henri stood still and attempted to begin a conversation – anything to distract himself.

            “You look very well tonight, Julien,” he blurted, without thinking.

            Julien grinned at the compliment, caught up in his own jubilant world. “ _Merci beaucoup, mon cher ami._ ”

           Julien finished the final touches on Henri’s costume, and then said, “And so do you.”  And he really meant it. Henri was wearing a green waistcoat with his suit that went perfectly with the green of his eyes. And his eyes were _really_ green. Not hazel, not bluish. Just green. Which is a rare sort of thing. Julien was sure he had never seen the like.

Henri smiled in the way he always did when he was earnestly pleased, pushed up his spectacles, and together they went downstairs to meet their professor.

They climbed into the carriage, and the Professor said something to the coachman to ensure that their whereabouts would be kept secret, and passed him a little bribe. The coachman nodded his assent, and they were off.  The ride was not long, but it took them into a low part of town. One cannot put on an illegal play in a theatre patronized by members of the government, after all.

 When Julien climbed out of the carriage, he could not believe his eyes. He was a sheltered child, and he had never seen such poverty. Some of the buildings were little more than shacks, and there were beggars everywhere. At the corner, a group of scantily clad women called out to them, and Julien blushed at their indecency. At the same time, he was enraged. Where were the leaders of the land? Where were the swells who ran this show? Why was the government allowing its citizens to live in such conditions?

Finally, they entered a tavern where the performance was to be, and took their seats. The crowd was not filled with impoverished people, as Julien had expected. (He had initially thought himself overdressed.)  Admittedly, there were some, but it seemed that every rebel in Paris had turned out to see this play. They were a motley crew – university students, professionals, craftsmen, chamber maids – but they had all of the right intentions. All were there to rebel against censorship. Julien was excited, and he was not the only one. Henri and the professor kept trying to suppress their grins. At last, the play began.

The acting was good, even if the costumes and scenery were low budget, and the players truly connected with their audience.

When it came to the scene in which Achilles is told of Patroclus’s death, Julien was struck with emotion. Tears streamed down his face, and he unconsciously reached out to clutch Henri’s hand. Henri clasped his hand just as tightly, and they watched the final scenes of the play in utter solemnity.

They were silent on the ride back; each absorbed in his own thoughts. Even Monsieur Cheverny, though he would have normally insisted on a discussion, was subdued. He could not help but smile a tiny satisfied smile, though, when he saw that the boys were absent mindedly playing with each other’s fingers as each looked out his own window, subconsciously taking comfort from the other’s touch.

They arrived at the school, and the night footman took the boys back up to their room, holding a lamp. They wearily undressed and pulled on their nightshirts, and collapsed into their beds. But despite their drooping eyes, neither could sleep. Finally, Henri broke the silence. “Julien?” he whispered through the darkness to his friend in the neighboring bed, trying not to wake the two other boys in their dormitory room. “Are you awake?” he asked a bit louder.

Julien was awake. “Hush, you’ll wake the others,” he replied gently. “Come over here and we can talk.”

Henri slipped out of his bed and padded across the cold floor, quickly climbing under Julien’s covers to escape the night air. He nearly sighed with contentment. It was bliss to have another warm body next to him. The other boys didn’t know it, but Henri and Julien often shared a bed like this, lying chastely together for warmth and comfort. Without any space between them, they could speak quietly and still hear one another.

“I could not sleep,” began Henri.

“Nor could I.”

There was a short silence between them. Then, ponderously, Julien spoke. “Henri… The play, it – it touched me deeply.” Henri nodded, and nuzzled closer into Julien’s chest. It was best to let him speak. He was the more eloquent, and he would speak for the both of them.

“There is so much injustice in the world, my friend… I saw many things tonight. Beggars on the street. Women driven to the worst of professions, life having dropped them at the bottom of the heap. I saw a play that had been censored – the most emotional and the most human bits taken out for what a few people viewed as “too offensive” or “improper”. And what was it that they found so offensive? Love. Deep, human, heart-wrenching love. But because it was a love between two men, someone had tried to erase it from history. And then I saw all sorts of men and women – of all ages and classes, gathered together in one place, for one cause. I realized it’s possible, Henri. It’s possible to change the world. And if it’s possible, I am going to do it. I am going to do it.”

Henri looked up into Julien’s face, illuminated by bars of moonlight streaming in through the window. “And I will always be there by your side.”

Julien’s smile was so saturated with his emotions – happiness, reassurance, determination – that Henri felt he could see straight through to his friend’s soul.

“Henri – ” Julien said the name not as a question, but as an acknowledgment. An acknowledgement of all he knew his friend to be and all he hoped he would become. An acknowledgment of the aching affection he had for his green-eyed, freckled, curly haired _ami_.

“ – I love you,” Julien finished, as if he were about to add, “you know.” And he _had_ known. For a long time.

Henri was flooded with joy. He leaned up to kiss his beloved chastely on his cherubic lips, then hugged him tightly, and nuzzled into the crook of his neck. “I love you too,” he whispered. They drifted off to sleep in a joyful fog of love and promise.


	5. Blood Spilt

The next few weeks, the boys grew immeasurable closer. Not only did they spend every possible waking hour with one another, talking, laughing or working; but they also slept chastely beside each other in one or the other’s bed nearly every night. Both boys took pleasure in holding the other close and breathing in his scent, and drifting off bathed in the other’s steadily radiating warmth.

            Occasionally, they would kiss gently, more often on the cheeks, forehead, or eyelids than on the mouth. Henri loved to press his lips to his friend’s lovely white neck and give an affectionate nuzzle on a sleepy morning. Julien sometimes had trouble reining in his affection in public. So passionate a soul was he that he sometimes felt compelled to kiss Henri. When he made a particularly clever observation or joke, for example; or when Julien caught him fiddling with his spectacles, poring over a textbook or an essay, his heart clenched within his breast, and he felt an overwhelming desire to display his affection. Julien had to keep a firm grasp on his emotions to avoid any awkward situations.

            Professor Cheverny, to his immense satisfaction and pride, noticed this increasing intimacy. Sometimes, when it was just the three of them in a room discussing the latest issue from class or, more often, the latest uncensored text he had given them, the boys would feel comfortable enough to hold hands. Likely, it was unconscious most of the time, the Professor thought objectively. Those two simply _had_ to touch.

            The final months of the school year passed in a flurry of tests, essays, and assignments. Somehow, though, Julien always found time to read up on politics and start a lively common-room debate. Henri became increasingly involved in Julien’s political efforts, and they would often sit and discuss the flaws of the monarchy. He no longer felt guilty participating in these seditious tirades. On the contrary, he felt it was his duty as a loyal Frenchman to make his country the best that it could be.

            One balmy May night, about a week after Professor Cheverny had given them some American and French Revolutionary documents to study, the boys sat up in the common room talking.

            “Henri, I simply can’t get over what Monsieur Jefferson wrote in the American Declaration. It is our _duty_ , Henri, to reform this government of ours. A government that leaves its people to rot in the streets while its monarchs live in luxury! And Robespierre thought so too! He rebelled against the monarchy in favor of a Republic! A beautiful, fair republic, where every man had his rights!”

            “But Julien… I – well – don’t you remember what Monsieur Cheverny said in class? Robespierre was responsible for the Reign of Terror. Julien, _rivers_ of blood ran in the streets of Paris! Blood of innocent Frenchmen!”

            “They were far from innocent!” Julien snapped passionately. “Don’t you understand, Henri? They were greedy tyrants who betrayed their country!”

            “But Julien, not all of them were so! Robespierre – he did not care whether one was innocent or not. He killed men if there was even a shadow of a doubt as to their loyalty! Often without trial!”

            “Henri! I cannot believe I am hearing you say this. Robespierre was a hero who saved France from a tyrannical ruler! We must do the same! We cannot allow France to continue on in its present state of misery. We have to fight!”

             “And what then?! Say we _do_ win this fight, what then? Become like Robespierre?! Julien, there is a _reason_ that the Republic failed. In defeating a tyrant, Robespierre became a tyrant himself!”

            Julien’s nostrils flared with fury, and livid spots of color appeared high on his cheeks. “Henri, what that man did was completely justifiable for the liberty of France! The end justifies the means!”

            Henri stared back with smoldering determination. “No. There is always another way. Blood need not _ever_ be spilt. I would not let one drop of your precious blood be spilt, no matter what the cause may be.”

            “Henri…” Julien murmured, gaze softening at his friend’s display of concern. He reached out to touch Henri’s arm, but it was wrenched away.

            Henri glared over his shoulder, then turned and muttered darkly, “And look where all that blood has left us. Struggling once again beneath a tyrannical reign.” Henri whipped around then, and Julien could see tears welling up in his eyes. “I’ll not let yours nor anyone else’s blood go to such a waste!” Then he turned and rushed away, yelling pitifully, “I’m going to bed!”

“Henri!” Julien called after him as he stormed out of the room. The blonde-haired boy considered chasing after him, but thought it better to leave his friend alone. He sat brooding for half an hour before heading to bed himself. They did not speak, and Julien did not join Henri in his bed that night.

            The next morning, there was a palpable tension between them. The boys dressed silently in their room, awkwardly aware of each other’s presence. But neither spoke a word. Finally, just as Henri was about to go down to breakfast, Julien broke his silence. “Henri, wait.”

            Henri stopped where he stood, but did not turn to face Julien. He continued. “Henri, you mustn’t be upset with me about last night. I spoke my true feelings, I will not deny, but my political views are worthless in comparison to how dearly I value your friendship. Please, forgive me. I was so caught up in my own opinions that I forgot to listen to yours. And your opinion is something I distinctly value, _ami_. In fact, nothing I preach could ever come to fruition without you. I need you to be always by my side, through better or worse. And, who knows? You might end up saving me from some awful fate I have not the foresight to avoid. Yes, knowing my own short-sightedness when it comes to these matters, I have no doubt that you will rescue me from some irreparable blunder. I need you Henri. Come back to me.”

            Henri, who had turned during this genuinely apologetic speech, was truly touched that Julien would be willing to put aside his politics, something so dear to him that it quite defined his nature, for his friendship. And, to be perfectly honest, Henri hated to fight, and wished the conflict to be finished. He would leave his concerns to the side until he had need to call upon them again. For now, he said, “Of course, _cheri_. I am sorry too. Shall we put this behind us?”

            Practically glowing with relief, Julien nodded. “D’accord,” he said simply, and together they descended the stairs.


	6. Provence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their relationship deepens.

The summer holidays were fast approaching, and Julien had had something in mind.

            “Henri?” he began one evening at supper. “I have been thinking.”

            Henri turned and looked at his friend. He nearly always liked Julien’s ideas. “What is it?” he asked.

            “Would you like to spend the summer with me in Provence?” Julien asked nervously. Quickly, he qualified his enquiry. “I mean, it wouldn’t have to be _all_ of the summer, for I am sure you would like to go home and see your family, but I –”

            Henri’s face broke out into a wide grin. “Julien, I’d love to. I cannot wait to meet your family. I shall write my papa, and you shall write yours, and it will all be settled!”

            Julien laughed in relief and excitement. “Good, for I do not think I would last another summer without you.” Julien immediately flushed and cast his eyes downward, realizing how plainly he had just displayed his true heart. Henri gently touched his arm, giving him a tender glance that told Julien he need not be embarrassed. With this simple gesture, Henri had effectively said, “I feel the same way.”

            The boys diligently organized a month-long stay at the Enjolras’ home. Sooner than either of them could believe, they were in a carriage on their way to the beautiful vineyard chateau. They talked and laughed the whole way, even as their carriage jostled them over ruts in the road. Yes, even when they had to get out in order to push the coach out of the mud, they were in good spirits. They were together, and that was all that mattered.

            After all too long on the road, the Enjolras estate was finally in sight. Henri stared around him at the beauty of Julien’s home. The lush gardens under the summer sun, the horses in their pasture, and the great white house just down the lane – For the first time, Henri was slightly embarrassed about his social status. Henri’s family may have been upper-middle class, as his father was a successful doctor, but his wealth was nothing to this. The Enjolrases were part of the _aristocracy_. He decided he would not make Julien uncomfortable by mentioning it, however, and instead exclaimed over the house’s beauty.

            “Julien, it is wonderful!” Henri truly thought it was.

            Julien was nearly bubbling with excitement. “Oh, Henri, just wait until I show you around! We shall have such fun! I am so happy you are here with me.” He gave Henri a tender smile and, unable to contain himself, a quick kiss on the cheek before they came to a complete stop at the front doors. Henri grinned, pleased, but did not have time to kiss Julien in return before the doors to the carriage were opened, and they were walking towards the grand house. All of the prominent servants had come up to greet them at the doors and to take their things inside.

            A young footman presented himself to Henri, saying, “Excuse me sir, but I will be taking care of you during your stay. May I show you to your rooms?”

            Henri, abashed at being so tended to, did not quite know how to respond, but Julien swooped in and saved the day. “There will be no need for that Remi, thank you. I would like to show Monsieur Combeferre around the house myself.”

            The footman bowed politely, saying, “As you wish, Sir,” and went to help with the trunks.

            Julien beckoned Henri after him, and led him up the stairs and down a long corridor. “Here are my rooms,” he said, gesturing to the right as they reached the end of the hall. “Yours are just across.”

            Julien opened the door and led Henri into a small but elegantly furnished sitting room with a fireplace. This room led into a  the bedroom, similarly furnished. “I hope you like it, and that it is comfortable for you,” Julien said with a host’s sense of modesty.

            “Of course, thank you.” Both were silent for a moment, awkwardly formal, knowing that others were nearby. Henri, deciding to soften air, pulled Julien to him and hugged him tightly before releasing him with a kiss to his flushed cheek. The boys shared a brief grin, but then they were interrupted by a flurry of activity as their trunks were brought in and unpacked.

            “Henri, it is nearly time to dine,” said Julien. “Dress, and whoever finishes first will come and get the other, and then I will lead you down to the dining hall. My parents are, I am sure, eager to meet you.”

            Henri nodded and they did just that. Henri finished dressing before Julien and came out into the hall, knocking gently on his friend’s door. Julien opened the door bare-chested, with two shirts draped over his arm and beckoned Henri in. Henri could not help but flick his eyes over Julien’s leanly muscled torso, which tapered attractively to a boyish waist at his hips. His dear Julien really was a wonderful specimen. “Henri, which should I wear? I like this one’s ruff better with this waistcoat, but the other is better for warm weather,” he said, holding each shirt up in turn.

            “Wear the one most comfortable. You’ll look wonderful in either.” Henri smiled quietly and continued. “You always look wonderful.”

            Julien flicked off the compliment lightly with a small hand gesture and laughed. “You think me handsome, Henri, cheri?”

            Henri answered in earnest. “Of course I do. I love everything about you.”

            Julien’s eyes shone at such a display of affection and he crossed to Henri. He gently brushed his fingers against his dearest friend’s neck and cupped his cheek. “Henri, my dear,” Julien whispered, “ _You_ are the loveliest creature ever to exist. I love every bit of you, too.”

            Gently, Julien pressed his mouth against Henri’s. It was not often that they kissed like this, on the lips, and it was normally gentle and slow when they did. Today was no exception. The boys moved their lips tenderly against one another’s. Somehow, though, Henri felt like it wasn’t enough. Maybe it had been seeing Julien half-bare, or maybe it was how happy he was to be here with him, but Henri was suddenly overwhelmed with the urge to be closer to Julien. Closer than close. Wrapping his arms around the small of Julien’s still bare back, Henri pulled the blonde’s hips to his. He then reached one hand up and tangled his fingers in Julien’s golden curls and pressed ever closer. Henri’s spectacles momentarily got in the way, but he promptly removed them and stuck them in his breast pocket, chuckling gently. Julien chuckled with him. Then he drew Julien’s still smiling face back into a kiss once more. After a moment, Henri made up his mind. Experimentally, he took Julien’s lower lip between his own lips and sucked gently.

            Julien gasped and his eyes fluttered open. Henri, concerned he had done something wrong, began to pull away. “ _Non, non_ , Henri,” Julien whispered quickly, pulling Henri back into the kiss. To Henri’s distinct pleasure, Julien attempted to do the same thing to his own bottom lip. Obviously he had done something right. And, indeed, the brunette liked this newfound intimacy in their kissing. Emboldened, Henri licked lightly at Julien’s mouth, and Julien gave a soft sigh and leaned in closer. Feeling it was somehow the right thing to do in response to Henri’s lapping, Julien opened his mouth. Henri did not miss the invitation, but was still unsure. Tentatively, he pressed his open mouth to Julien’s. When their tongues met, a thrill went down both boys’ spines. Growing more comfortable by the second, the two kissed more passionately than they had ever before, exploring one another’s mouths enthusiastically. When they broke for air, they heaved in gasping breaths before plunging back into their newfound pleasure. Henri absolutely adored the approving hums and throaty little groans he elicited when he kissed Julien this way. Julien absolutely adored the way Henri flushed from neck to forehead, his freckles even cuter when smattering rosy cheeks.

            Presently, however, there was a knock at the door, and the boys flew apart. “Monsieur Enjolras, sir. Dinner will be served in 10 minutes,” a footman called through the door.

 “ _Ah, oui, un moment_ ,” replied Julien, flustered, as he quickly threw on his light summer shirt. At first he fumbled with his buttons, still shaky with the heady pleasure of kissing Henri, but after a few deep and steadying breaths, he managed to button his shirt calmly. He then finished dressing, tucking in his shirt, and buttoning his waistcoat and dinner jacket.

 Henri flopped onto the bed and put his spectacles back on. He watched Julien dress, not lustfully, but lovingly. He smiled happily as he gazed at his dearest. It was a wonderful thing to know you loved someone, and he loved you in return. When Julien had finished dressing, he turned to Henri, catching his gaze. They shared a joyful look. A look that spoke of love, laughter, and promises yet unsworn. “Shall we go down, then?”  asked Julien.

“Yes, I think we shall.”


	7. The Parents

As they walked into the dining hall, Henri was careful to mind his manners. Still, he did not know what to do. The room was grand and elegant, like nothing Henri had ever seen. What if he made some grand faux pas in etiquette? They would surely think him but a poor country doctor’s son, not well-bred enough to know basic manners. Thankfully, Julien was right there beside him to gesture him to his seat. When Henri moved to sit down, Julien whispered out of the corner of his mouth, “Don’t sit yet. Wait for my mother and father to enter.”

            After a moment, a lordly man and a lovely lady entered the room. Henri immediately took a liking to Julien’s mother. Bubbly, light, and beautiful, Madame Enjolras’ demeanor could be described as nothing but infectious friendliness and warmth. And she looked so like his Julien. The man Henri assumed to be Julien’s father was a bit forbidding. Dark and tall, he was not a particularly big man, but his presence could easily dominate a room.

            “ _M_ _ére, P_ _ére. Ceci est mon bon ami,_ Henri Combeferre,” said Julien, gesturing to his friend.

Henri gave a polite bow and said, “Thank you very much for having me, _Monsieur et Madame_ Enjolras.”

            The man spoke first in response. “ _Je suis Le Marquis de Provence_ , Armand Enjolras.” He bowed lightly. “And this is my wife, Clarice.” Enjolras’s mother curtsied.

            “We are so pleased to have you in our home. Please feel free to ask for anything you need during your stay here,” said Enjolras’s mother in the most lovely and reassuring voice Henri had ever heard. He felt truly welcome by her.

            “So, let’s eat!” said Monsieur Enjolras robustly. He pulled out a chair for his wife, and she was seated, then the servants pulled out chairs for the men, and they sat. Henri wondered curiously at all the ceremony. The footmen began to serve. Though he had soup in his bowl, Henri wisely did not touch it yet, following Julien’s example.

After everything was doled out, Monsieur Enjolras said, “Let us pray.” Everyone bowed their heads and clasped their hands, so Henri did the same. He was, of course, Catholic, but his family rather nonchalantly practiced. Monsieur Enjolras presently finished his prayer, and all said “Amen.” Then the head of the house tucked into his soup, and everyone, at last, followed suit.

The soup was wonderful. Tomato and basil, just right for summer. But in a moment, Henri’s attention was drawn from his soup as Julien’s father spoke.

“So, boys, how was the term? I trust the exams went well?”

“ _Oui, P_ _ére_ , exams went well for us both.”

“Good,” Monsieur Enjolras nodded in approval. “Henri,” he began, turning to his guest, “Julien hasn’t been up to any more trouble, has he? I’ve had complaints a bit too often from frustrated schoolmasters in the past few years. They say he speaks out of turn.” Though he smiled good naturedly, Henri somehow got the impression that this was no playful jibe at his son. Still, he answered as tactfully as he could.

“No, sir, Julien is a very good student.” This was true, but Henri smiled fondly to himself at the memory of his last passionate political outburst in physics a few weeks ago. Something about Galileo’s repression by the Church. “He just likes to speak his mind, that is all.” He added, sharing a little grin with Julien.

“That’s our Julien,” interjected Madame Enjolras kindly, smiling at her son as if his troublemaking was the absolute joy of her heart. Henri got the impression that it actually was. He knew that Julien loved his mother better than his father, and he was beginning to see why.

“Yes, boy, you would do well to put that passion for arguing into the Law,” said Julien’s father gruffly. “Say, how would you like me to send you to university in Paris next autumn?”

Julien’s eyes widened, and he imperceptibly glanced at Henri before replying, “Pére, so soon?”

“Nonsense, boy, you’re already nearly fifteen, and you’ll be sixteen by the time you attend. Time you started acting like a man.”

Julien sat and pondered for a moment, ignoring his father’s jibe at his manhood. He was well used to such disapproval by now. He _would_ love to go to university, and get away from all he hated about boarding school. He would _love_ to live in Paris. But what about Henri? Would he be able to come with him?  For now, though, he needed to give his father an answer. “Yes, Pére, I would like that very much.”

“Good, it’s settled.”

Unbeknownst to Julien, Henri’s heart sank.  _What if I am unable to attend? What if my father won’t let me? Then Julien and I will be separated._

The next course came in then, and Henri was broken out of his glum thoughts by a comment directed towards him. “I hope you like rabbit, Henri,” said Julien’s mother.

Henri stared hungrily at the delicious food being served. He never had such things at home.  “Oh, I do Madame, yes.”

“Oh, good,” she said sincerely, and Henri was left with the feeling that she really did care. He liked Julien’s mother very much.

“So, Henri, what would you like to study at university?”

“My father is a physician, Madame, and I would very much like to follow in his footsteps. I want to help people, and find a useful place in the world.” Henri said this with much passion. He had wanted to be a doctor for his whole life, and whenever he spoke of it, his enthusiasm seemed to flow out into the room. Julien smiled to himself and thought: _He is so beautiful when he speaks like that._

“That is wonderful, Henri. I wish you all the best in pursuing your dream. Julien is lucky to have found a friend like you,” Madame Enjolras said. Henri was filled head to toe with the pleasure of her compliment. He could not help but think: _This wonderful lady is all warmth, kindness and sincerity. However did she manage to marry a gruff old chanticleer like M. Enjolras?_

The rest of the evening passed unremarkably. Further conversation with the Enjolrases only served to solidify his first impressions. Julien looked well enough, so Henri resolved not to worry about university until he had had a chance to write his father. Finally, it was time for bed. The boys retired to their rooms. When they had reached their doors, they faced each other in the corridor.

Julien looked around quickly, and then embraced Henri. “Goodnight, dear. Sleep well. I shall see you in the morning.”

Henri smiled, cupped the blonde boy’s cheek, and kissed him chastely but lovingly. “Goodnight, _cheri_.”

Then they turned and opened their doors, and went to bed. Lying there alone in a grand four-poster, Henri missed Julien. Without the warmth of his body next to him, he felt alone. He drifted off to sleep with memories today’s fierce, wonderful, golden kiss.


	8. The Dreams

In the grey of the predawn, Julien awoke hot and flushed, stray curls plastered to his forehead and neck with sweat. He was also achingly hard. He had been having these dreams of late. Dreams of Henri. Beautiful Henri in the throes of passion. Henri, naked, touching himself, or touching Julien. Kissing him. Like they had kissed yesterday. Guiltily, Julien pressed his face into his pillows and tried to bite back his moans as he stroked himself off. It was not right, thinking of Henri in this way. At school, he was always afraid Henri would find him in this state in the mornings. If he found out, Julien would lose him, he was sure. But he could not help himself. Somehow, his thoughts always strayed to his dark haired, green eyed, freckled friend. Julien could not stop imagining those perfect lips, plump and red from kissing. Those cheeks flushed scarlet. Henri baring his long white neck for him. Julien wanted to kiss, bite, touch – everything. He wanted to give everything he had to Henri, and to possess everything Henri had to give. He wanted Henri to cry out his name, consumed with pleasure – at the thought of this, Julien spilled himself into his hand with a strangled cry, muffled by a pillow.

            Immediately, the shame consumed him. _I am disgusting. A vile creature who values his friend only for his body and not for his soul. I don’t deserve him. Why? Why can’t I just stop wanting him?_ Tears pricked Julien’s eyes, and he cried a bit in his frustration. Then he got up, cleaned himself, dressed, and sat awake in the chaise lounge, unable to sleep for the turmoil in his soul.

            As Julien sat pondering in his room across the corridor, Henri awoke with a start. For a moment, he was unsure where he was. Then, all at once, a realization came upon him. He was in Julien’s home in Provence and…and he was sticky. Henri flushed red in mortification, though there was no one to see. He had had one of those dreams again. Dreams in which Julien lie naked and spread for him, golden curls fanned out and face flushed, and Henri pleasured him in the secret way. A way he had learned from a banned medical textbook he’d obtained from Monsieur Cheverny’s trunk of forbidden books. He had spoken of it to no one but, once, in the dark of night, he’d touched that secret place inside himself. It had been ecstasy. He knew he should not, but he wanted to give that pleasure to Julien. He had been feeling lately, that he needed more than petting and chaste kisses. He wanted Julien to be his lover. To be his Patroclus, or his Achilles, or both. He wanted Julien to be all his own. Perhaps that is why he had initiated the kiss the previous day. And, given Julien’s reaction, perhaps, just perhaps, there was a chance this dream of Henri’s might come true.

            No, no, it could never be so. It surely could never be so. Embarrassed at his own thoughts and actions, Henri rose and cleaned up as best as he could, then dressed and flopped down on the chaise, embroiled in the struggle between his guilt and his desire.

            Breakfast was decidedly _not_ awkward. It could not possibly have been, because both boys were endeavoring so greatly to make natural and lively conversation. In fact, if it had been asked of Madame Enjolras (Julien’s father was out on business long before their breakfast) or the servants, Henri’s first morning at the Enjolras estate could not have been gayer. And, interestingly, by acting as though they were happy, the boys eventually became happy again, forgetting about their respective troubles.

            Julien, Henri noticed, was a good deal less reserved around his mother than around his father. He laughed and joked with her, and told her amusing stories of school. Contrary to his reserved politeness the night before, he was just as familiar with his mother as Henri was with his own, calling her “Maman” instead of “Mére.” And, to Henri’s immense surprise, he thought he heard a little country twang come out in the speech of both mother and child. He had never heard Julien speak anything but pure, clean French, but now he heard a widening of vowels and a dropping of syllables even _he_ , the middle class doctor’s son, did not hear at home. Gradually, they slipped deeper into whatever language they were speaking, and Henri could not understand what was being said, but for a few scattered words and snippets of speech.

            “Julien,” he asked, astonished, during the first lull in their conversation, looking back and forth between the two, “Where does that accent come from?” The moment it came out of his mouth, Henri was afraid he had been rude, but he needn’t have worried.

            The fair-headed beauties looked at each other in synchrony and, after a pause, burst out in a short bout of uproarious laughter. Henri could only gape on, chuckling slightly in surprised amusement.

            After Julien had his breath nearly back, he gasped out, “What is it, city boy, never heard anyone speak Provençal?” Henri sheepishly shook his head, aware he was being teased, but good-naturedly accepting. Julien smiled reassuringly at him, telling him he was still loved. “I shall have to teach you then,” he pronounced, nodding his head determinedly.

            Julien’s mother laughed gaily. “Julien, you mustn’t go around muddying the French language!” She turned to Henri and said apologetically, “I’m sorry. He gets it from me, I’m afraid. I’m a country gal through and through. I shall always be a dairy farmer’s daughter at heart.”

            Henri usually would not have taken the chance, but Madame Enjolras seemed like a person with whom he could very easily speak. He decided he could risk impertinent questions and teasing. “Then… you were a milkmaid, Madame?”

            “Indeed, young man,” Enjolras’ mother said with a smile. “Got up at dawn each morning to milk the cows.

            “And may I ask, Madame, have you been to Bordeaux of late?” There was a beat of silence, then Julien laughed and swatted Henri on the arm. “Don’t make fun of my mother, Henri!”

            Henri feigned innocence. “I wasn’t, I was simply – ”

            “Julien, what is the joke?” asked Madame Enjolras curiously, but not at all upset.

            “It’s nothing. It’s a painting, Maman, and she looks nothing like you,” he said with a pointed look at Henri.

            “Indeed, she does not,” Henri said with a smile. “It was a weak joke at best. Madame Enjolras is _far_ more beautiful than Signor Goya’s milkmaid.”

            Madame Enjolras threw back her head, fanned herself with her hand exaggeratedly and said, coquettishly, “Why, monsieur, you are _too_ kind. Just _too_ kind.” She fluttered her eyelashes with all the melodrama her role deserved. Julien sat back in his seat and rolled his eyes.

            “Henri, _don’t_ flirt with my mother. And _Maman_ , don’t flirt with my ami!”

            Henri and Madame Enjolras laughed conspiratorially at Julien’s annoyance.

            “In all seriousness, Madame Enjolras,” Henri began, just to be sure. “If it is as Julien has said, and I have stepped somehow out of line, please do not hesitate to rebuke me.”

            “Not at all,” Madame Enjolras said with an amiable smile. “And _do_ call me Clarice, dear. I abhor formality. Why else would I have taught my son such an awfully common tongue?”

            “D’accord, Clarice. But, if I may say so, I should love to learn a language so rich in cultural heritage.”

            “Haha!” cried Julien triumphantly, punching a fist into the air. “You will be taught! Come, Henri, finish your _tartine avec confiture_ , and we shall go riding! Care to join us Maman?”

            “Oh, no, Cheri, not today.”

            “Very well.”

            And the next thing Henri knew he was being dragged off to change into riding clothes, and then off to the stables. Upon entering the stables, Henri looked around. There were six stalls, each occupied with a horse. Julien, impatient, led him to the furthest stall on the left. Written in elegant cursive on the door was the name “Gabriel.” Peering inside the stall, Henri saw a majestic white stallion, quite deserving of his name.

            “This is my horse, Gabriel,” said Julien, excited to show Henri his pride and joy. Julien loved riding, and could not wait to share his interest with his dear friend. Gabriel nosed Julien through his window, and Julien obligingly reached into his pocket for a sugar cube.

            “He’s beautiful, Julien,” Henri said in genuine awe.

As the magnificent beast munched, Julien led Henri to the stall across the way. The door to the stall read, “Beatrice”. Inside was a chestnut mare, whose coat positively gleamed as she moved. Upon their approach, she immediately stuck her nose through her window, eager to see her visitors. “This is my mother’s horse, but I am sure she would not mind if you rode her. She is the sweetest tempered mare I have ever known, and she takes kindly even to strangers and inexperienced riders.” As if to give proof to this statement, Beatrice amiably nosed Henri, and he took her head and pet her gently, cooing praise.

Julien chuckled. “Here, give her a sugar cube.” Henri took the treat from Julien and held out his hand to Beatrice’s searching lips. When her wet mouth touched his hand, he cried out in laughter, unused to the sensation.

“She is absolutely enamored with you now! You shan’t ever be rid of her. She’ll follow you around forever for just one more sugar cube!” Still laughing, Julien said, “Alright, let her out and bridle her, and tie her to the ring on the wall so we can saddle her. Her bridle’s there on that hook.” Henri did as he was told, as Julien did the same to Gabriel.

After Julien had finished with Gabriel, he looked over to see Henri’s progress. He was still struggling with the fastenings to the bridle, and was unsure of what went where. Why, he had the ear hole over Beatrice’s eye! And poor Beatrice just patiently tolerated it!

“Henri!” Julien yelped, trying unsuccessfully not to laugh at the hilarity. Crossing to where his friend struggled with Beatrice, he said, “Let me help you. Come here.” Henri stood expectantly, waiting for Julien to do it for him. “No, silly, come _here_. You must do it yourself or you will never learn.” Henri stepped closer to Beatrice, and Julien took his hand, placing it on the bridle. Henri’s skin sparked at to touch of the warm hand over his. _He is so close to me._

“See here?” Julien said into his ear, still standing _ever_ so close. “Take this and slip it over her _ear_. _Not_ her eye.” Henri grinned sheepishly, embarrassed at his ignorance. “There. Do you see how it ought to fit now?”

“Oui, Julien. I understand now.” Julien moved away to fetch the saddles then, and Henri finished with Beatrice’s bridle, distinctly aware of the absence of Julien’s warm body next to his.

The saddle was somewhat easier for Henri to grasp, but Julien still needed to help Henri and make sure the girth was fastened neither too loosely nor too tightly. Finally, however, their horses were saddled and they were ready to ride. They led their horses out into the morning sunlight. What a beautiful day it was to ride – blue skies and a pleasant breeze.

“Henri, _mon cher_ , watch how I mount, and do the same.” Julien then put his right foot into his stirrup and swung his left over the horse. Henri, surprisingly, had no issues with this, and easily jumped up into the saddle. Julien laughed in amazement. “It seems you are a natural!”

Henri was not so sure. “We shall see, shan’t we?”

“Just remember to squeeze her tightly with your thighs so you don’t fall. Keep your heels down in the stirrups and give her a moderate kick when you wish for a speedier gait. The reins are easy enough. Pull the right side when you wish to turn right, and left for left. Don’t panic and pull back on the reigns. That tells her you wish her to stop or slow down.”

Henri looked incredulously at Julien, “That is an awful lot of information all at once.”

Julien simply gave his most winsome smile. “I have perfect faith in you. We will start at a walk.”

Julien urged Gabriel into motion and Henri followed suit. To his surprise, it was quite easy. Beatrice did just what he wanted her to do. After a while, Julien pulled up beside Henri. “You seem confident enough now. Why don’t we try a trot? It is admittedly a bit difficult at first. One must have a feel for the horse’s rhythm. When her shoulders rise, you must already be rising out of their way, and when they fall, you will fall to with them. This ensures a much smoother ride for both horse and rider.”

Julien urged Gabriel into a trot and posted along with him, demonstrating for Henri. Henri spurred Beatrice into the proper gait. It was difficult. He couldn’t seem to find her rhythm, and sat bouncing in the saddle. He closed his eyes in embarrassment. He didn’t want Julien to laugh and think him stupid. All of a sudden, however, he caught on to the pattern of Beatrice’s gait. _It is because I closed my eyes._ And, indeed it was. Without distractions from his eyes, Henri could distinctly feel the mare’s body moving beneath him. Once one gets the hang of posting, one can’t ever forget it, and so Henri was posting like a pro in a matter of minutes.

Julien could only stare in amazement. Henri was truly a _natural_ with horses. Who would have thought? Then, he supposed it made sense. Henri was a very gentle and reassuring fellow who had a way with people as well as animals. He would make a very good doctor someday.

“Henri,” he called, “you’re an absolute natural, mon ami! It seems you have the basics down. Let’s race!” And, with that, Julien galloped away through the rolling grass, laughing with joy at the wind in his face.

“That’s not fair! You have a head start!” called Henri with glee, even as he gained. Faster and faster they rode, in a constant battle to outstrip the other. Hoof beats could be heard tumbling over the earth, resonating through the boys’ chests. Their hair flew wild with the wind, and their cheeks flushed with exertion. Whoops of exhilaration echoed through the air, and laughter spouted unbidden from beaming mouths. Finally, after what could have been a second or a year, the boys reined in their panting horses at the creek, and tumbled off in a flurry of limbs into the grass, where they lied side by side.

As their horses drank, their laughter died down into a comfortable silence. Neither felt the need to speak. It was enough simply to be in each other’s company. Julien shimmied closer, and laid his head on Henri’s shoulder, and the latter wrapped his arm around Julien in response.

Julien nuzzled his head into the crook of Henri’s neck and whispered, “ _Je t’aime,_ _mon ami_.”  Henri’s heart swelled with utter content, and all he could do was lean down, palm his friend’s cheek, and kiss him. Kiss him with all his soul. It was not a fiery kiss of youthful passion, but a kiss of love, and both took joy simply from their closeness, the touch of their lips, and the feel of the other’s breath on their skin. They broke apart with sunny smiles, and a shared look that spoke volumes.

Rising to his feet, Julien said, “Come. The horses are drifting. Let us ride home.” So they went to the horses, which were now a little ways away, and climbed into their saddles. They rode home at a walk, enjoying the pleasant weather and an easy conversation about such things as school and home and family.

Coming to the stables, they reigned in, but before they could dismount, Julien leaned over to where Henri sat astride, and gave him one last affectionate kiss on the mouth. Henri blushed and glanced nervously around. “ _Julien!_ Anyone could have _seen_ ,” he hissed, embarrassed.

Julien only gave his green-eyed friend another winsome smile. “Ah, but they did not. And I would not care if they did, anyhow.”

Henri raised a skeptical eyebrow, but they dismounted and led their horses into the stables without another word. Little did they know that a pair of brilliant blue eyes – eyes like Julien’s – had been watching from an upstairs window.


	9. Love?

That night at supper, Clarice was very silent, but it was hardly noticed with all the talk the boys – men, really – had to offer.  All she could think about was what she had seen earlier that day from the upstairs drawing room window.  She was sure her eyes had not deceived her. Her Julien – her only child, and the delight of her eye – was not only grown up enough to be kissing, but had decided to kiss other _boys_. Yes, she had seen him kiss his friend, and it could not have been mistaken for a _bissous_. No, Julien had kissed Henri as if he _loved_ him.

Love. This was a new thought. Does he really _love_ him? She studied the interactions between the two of them, calculating. They were both so tender towards one another. Any tease was quickly amended. When they touched,  they always lingered. And when they looked at each other… something passed between them. Something meant only for the two of them to witness. Yes, she was sure. They truly loved one another.

Upon coming to this realization, Clarice was surprised to find that she was not in the least dismayed. In fact, she felt a sort of motherly pride that she presumed she would have felt if Julien had found himself a wonderful wife. _Henri is a very nice boy. I like him very much, and I think he will make my Julien happy. And why should there be anything wrong with it as long as Julien loves him? It doesn’t matter what sex your love is. I am convinced that one cannot help whom he loves. I want for Julien the happiness and love that I never had, and if this boy can give that to him, I will fight with all my power to make sure he can have him. This sort of thing was perfectly legal under Napoleon. I remember, as a child, there was gossip that a couple of young men in town had been that way, and had had to hide it once the regime changed. In any case, I am his mother, and I will love him regardless of whom he chooses to love._ And, with that, Clarice reconciled herself to doing what every mother knows she will someday have to do – give her child away to another. Until then, however, there were things to be discussed.

“Julien, darling,” she said when there was a lull in the conversation. “Your birthday is fast approaching. I have been thinking that we might hold a ball.”

“Oh, Mére, there is no need to make a fuss over me,” Julien said modestly.

“Nonsense, _cheri_ , I should like to get one good party out of you before you leave me forever. Soon you’ll be at university and your poor mother will be all alone, with no one to talk to.”

Julien’s father laughed. “Why, what about me, my darling?”

Clarice raised her brow and said in a mock whisper, so that anyone at the table could clearly hear, “Yes, just think of it. The only one I will have to talk to is _him_!”

Everyone laughed good spiritedly at the joke. Henri thought this was the first time he’d actually seen Julien’s father laugh. Clarice’s spirit was simply infectious. No one went unaffected by her good humor.

“Alright, Mére, as you wish. You know I would do anything to please you.”

Her face lit up with glee, and she turned to her husband, “Well, Armand, are we to hold a ball for Julien’s birthday?”

“Yes, yes, I think it a splendid idea. One last grand party before Julien’s final year at boarding school.”

Clarice could practically burst with joy. She was a very social creature, who greatly enjoyed being around people, and she absolutely _loved_ giving parties. “It is settled then! I shall make all of the arrangements.”

They talked and laughed over party plans for the remainder of supper, withdrew to play a few rounds of vingt-un, and everyone went to bed quite happy.

When Henri and Julien reached to doors of their respective rooms, Julien gave his freckled friend a brief kiss goodnight. They smiled at one another lovingly, and then turned and entered their own rooms.

Henri did not blow out the light immediately, for things were on his mind. As he undressed, he thought about the party – what was essentially a going away party before Julien went to university a year later. Henri needed to write to his father.

In his dressing gown, he sat down at the writing desk, and composed the following letter.

Dearest Father,

My fondest greetings to you, Mother, and my sisters.

I hope that you are all well, and I look forward to

seeing you in a month’s time. Truth be told, I have

had it in my mind to ask you about attending

university in the autumn of next year. I feel that my

secondary education is drawing to a close, and that

a year more will be more than sufficient to prepare

me for what is to come. You know that I have always

dreamed of becoming a physician, like you, and I

hope to take the entrance exam to Decartes, so that I

may have the opportunity to work at the Necker, as it is one

of the only teaching hospitals in France. I look

forward to your response, so that I may know whether

or not I have your permission and support in pursuing

this next autumn. Give all of my love to Mother,

Jeanine, and Annette.

                                    Affectionately,

                                                            Henri

 

            Henri had included nothing about his wish to follow Julien to Paris. He wanted his father to see him as independent. He hoped with all his heart that his father would be able to send him to university. Henri was almost positive he would have his father’s consent, but he wasn’t sure about the money. He would simply have to see.


	10. A Mother's Advice

The weeks flew by, and the date of the Julien’s birthday ball was fast approaching. Even Julien, who could have cared less about a birthday celebration, was getting a bit excited. His birthday coincided with the fall of the Bastille, and he felt a distinct sort of pride in secretly celebrating a day so hated by the monarchy. It was his honor to have been born on an anniversary of a day so important to his ideals.

            Henri, for his part, was simply glad to be able to spend so much time with Julien. They passed their days riding, running, playing chess, and any number of other things. A few times, they rode into the nearby village to have a look at the market. Everyone seemed to know Julien there, and they were all genuinely friendly. It was expected that they would be respectful to the son of their landlord, but they seemed to genuinely like Julien. Henri was not surprised. What was not to like? Twice, they went to the beach for a day, and Henri absolutely gloried in the sun and the sea. There was nothing like it. They spent their evenings reading, supping with the family, and playing rounds of vignt-un, among other things. Henri could not have cared less what he did, so long as he did it with Julien.

            Henri had not yet heard back from his father, and he was beginning to worry. He wrote again, asking if his letter had been lost, and also sent individual letters to his mother and sisters. In all other respects, however, he was happy.

            Julien was thrilled to have Henri with him for the summer. He loved to spend time with his green-eyed, freckled friend (more freckled after the beach), and couldn’t get enough of his odd wit and intelligent conversation. Julien never wanted to be away from him, and had an aching desire to please him in any way possible. Anything Henri wanted he would be happy to give him, if only to see a smile on his face.

            Still, to his mortification, the lusty dreams of his friend plagued him. One night, Henri had fallen asleep in Julien’s bed reading, and Julien had not the heart to wake him, so he curled up beside him as he often did at school. In the twilight hours, he had awoken with a cry from one of these dreams to find Henri asleep beside him. In a panic, he had rushed off to the bathing room to take care of his problem, praying that Henri would not wake. Thankfully, he did not, but Julien was not able to return to bed after that. Julien’s guilt and shame over his debasing thoughts of his friend could not be shaken. No matter how desperately he wished to master his passions, he could not escape the dreams, and the thought of disrespecting someone he loved and valued more than anyone in the world tortured him. If only Julien had known that Henri was having the same problems.

            Despite the shameful dreams both boys had at night, they always successfully banished the thoughts in the morning, and managed to grow closer over the days spent in each other’s company. Clarice scrutinized their relationship from afar, and daily her conviction grew that her son truly loved this dark-haired boy from the city, and that the dark-haired boy loved Julien in return. Still, there was something holding them back. A fear for propriety, she was sure. The boys did not quite understand that there was nothing wrong with their love, and tried to hide it, sometimes even from each other. Clarice wanted Julien’s happiness more than anything, and there was only one way. Yes, she would have to speak with him. But how?

            The day before Julien’s ball came, and Henri retired early from what had been an exhausting day of learning how to fence. Julien moved to accompany him, but his mother called to him. “Julien, _cheri_ , may I speak with you?” Julien turned to face her “It’s about the ball,” she added with a smile.

            Julien turned to his friend and gave him an apologetic glance, then turned to his mother. “ _Oui_ , Maman, of course. _Bonne nuit_ , Henri.”

            “ _Bonne nuit_ , Julien.”

            After Henri left the room, Clarice motioned for her son to come closer. Julien nervously sat on the chaise beside her. It was clear from his mother’s expression that this was _not_ about the party, and he was anxious to hear what his mother could possibly have to say to him that was giving her such nerves. “Maman, what is this _really_ about?”

            Clarice heaved a steadying sigh. “Julien, it is about your _ami_ , Henri.”

            Julien’s brows shot up in surprise. “Maman, what is the matter? What has he done? Do you dislike Henri?”

            Clarice smiled kindly, and patted her son on the shoulder. “ _Non, non, mon cher_ , of course not. Nothing like that.” Julien looked visibly relieved, but still uneasy at the strangeness of this conversation. He looked askance at his mother, but did not interrupt.

            “Julien, _cheri_ , you love Henri very much, do you not?”

            “Of course, Maman, he is my dearest friend.”

            “ _Oui_ , Julien, but do you love him as _more_ than a friend?” she blurted out, shooting straight to the point.

            Julien’s eyes widened and he visibly blushed. He froze stock still, clenching his hands into the upholstery of the chaise. “Whatever can you mean, Maman?” He knew exactly what she meant. _How does she know?_ He inwardly panicked.

            “Julien, my darling, I think you _know_ what I mean,” she said gently, covering his white-knuckled hand with her own.

            “Maman, I – that is, I – well –”

            Clarice, seeing that her child was in distress, rushed to clarify. “Julien, it is _alright._ It is nothing of which to be ashamed. I wish you only happiness, my dear, that is what I wanted to say. That was the purpose of this conversation. I wish you to know that I will love you no matter whom you choose to love!”

            Julien took one long calculating look at his mother, and then crumpled into her arms, all of his tension leaving him at once. “Maman,” he said softly, his voice breaking. Then, muffled by her shoulder, he began to cry. Great sobs wracked his frame as he let out all of the feelings he had kept bottled up for so long.

            “Maman!” he wailed into the crème muslin veiling her shoulder. “I love him so _much_. I cannot help it, Maman. I always want to be with him, and when I am not my heart _aches_. I would do anything for him – _anything_ to make him happy. I want to see him smile. I love his conversation, his wit, his very soul! _Everything_. I always want to kiss him and – and –” Here he stopped, and pulled away, wiping away his tears, and staring abashedly into his lap.

            Clarice smiled sympathetically at her son’s cathartic confessions, glad to see that he had finally admitted his feelings. But, as much as it embarrassed her, she felt that she needed to speak with him about one more thing. “Julien,” she said tentatively. “Were you going to finish your sentence?”

            Julien looked up at his mother, wide eyed and scared and hopelessly embarrassed. “No, Maman. It is nothing.”

            Clarice, however, with her usual penetrating clarity, asked gently, “Do you want him to be your lover?”

            “Maman!” her son cried, absolutely scandalized. “You cannot just ask a question like that!”

            “My dear, it is perfectly natural. I hold no illusions that you are ignorant of that part of love. You are quite old enough to know by now, and I am sure you do. If you have any questions, though, please know that you can come to me.”

            “Mére, you are being ridiculous!”

            “Julien, I gave birth to you. Do you think I do not know the way of things?”

            “Well, even if I _did_ want Henri to be – to be that, he would not wish the same!” Julien spat defensively. “So I will _not_ be needing your assistance!”

            He moved to stand, but Clarice wrapped her arms around him and pulled him down to the chaise. Julien returned to his seat, but crossed his arms with his back to his mother. “Oh, Julien, _mon cher_ , do not take things so. I only wish to help. How do you _know_ your Henri does not feel the same way? Have you asked him?”

            “ _No_ , Mére! Why would I ask him such a thing?!”

            “Well _I_ happen to think that he loves you just as much as you love him, and that he wants all of the same things you do.”

            “How could you possibly know that?!” Julien exclaimed, whipping around to face her.

            “My sweet, I have _seen_ the way he looks at you. I am a woman, and we have an intuitive sense of such things. And he lets you kiss him, does he not? And he kisses you?”

            At this, Julien calmed down a bit, if only to satisfy his curiosity about how all of this had begun. “Yes, mother, but how _exactly_ have you come to know this?”

            “That first day, I saw you kiss him down by the stables after your ride. I have watched the two of you ever since, just to be sure. I am certain, now, of your mutual affection.”

            Julien blushed, remembering how concerned Henri had been that someone could have seen. Well, it seems that someone had. “Maman?” he began, his defensiveness replaced by tentative hope. “Do you really think he loves me as I love him?”

            Clarice smiled at her son, and took him into her arms in a warm embrace. “Oui, cheri, I think he loves you very much.” Then, holding him by the shoulders at an arm’s length, she scrutinized her vulnerable son. His face was flushed and streaked with tears, and his brow furrowed. _Cupid’s arrow sends the heart all aquiver._

Determinedly, Clarice proposed her solution to all of her son’s woes. “There is only one way to find out, isn’t there, Julien?” She reached up and smoothed Julien’s knitted brow, and lifted his chin so as to meet her son’s teary eyes. “You must tell him how you feel.”

Julien looked down, understanding, at last, that his mother had only meant to help. Nearly imperceptibly, he nodded, knowing what he had to do.

Finished with her speech, Clarice stood. “And now, I think it is time for us to retire. We have a big day tomorrow.”

            Julien stood with her, and graced her with a tight embrace. “ _Bonne nuit_ , Maman.”

            “ _Bonne nuit_ , Julien.”

            Nothing more needed to be said. They went to bed, hearts full of hope, and nerves, and love.


	11. Henri's Gift

The day dawned, and Julien was fifteen. The house was all a-bustle, servants weaving this way and that, their voices echoing through the halls, decorating and cooking and cleaning for the ball. Before going down to breakfast, Henri knocked on Julien’s door. When the blonde answered and saw his friend, he flushed, remembering his conversation with his mother the night before. _However am I to tell him?_ This thought pervaded his every thought, and set his gut a-churning.

            Julien led his friend into his room, and shut the door behind them so that he could continue dressing. Henri, oblivious to Julien’s discomfort, swept his friend up into an exuberant embraced and gave him an affectionate _bissous_. Then, as an afterthought, kissed him soundly on the lips, grinning from ear to ear. While this raised Julien’s hopes somewhat, it did nothing to quell his nerves.

            “Happy Birthday, Julien!” said Henri with congratulatory zeal. “Here, I have something for you.” He proffered the package that had been awkwardly clutched in his hand throughout his greeting.

            “Thank you, _mon ami_ ,” Julien said with a warm smile, taking his gift. “You really needn’t have gone to all the trouble.” Even so, his heart beat wildly with the pleasure of receiving a gift from his beloved. He cared not what it was. He would cherish anything so long as it was from Henri.

            Sitting absently on his bed, he began to tear open the paper. Henri, suddenly overcome with a gift-giver’s nerves, began to make excuses for his present. “I thought it best to give it to you this morning, for I am sure you will be quite overwhelmed with gifts and compliments tonight. It is really nothing much, and I hope you will like it, but if not, it is no matter.”

            At this point, Julien had finished opening his present, and stared at it for a moment with lips parted. It was a waistcoat – scarlet red with beautiful brass buttons and golden chording, and expertly made. He stroked his fingers gently over the fabric. It was not overly fine, but of a grade one could wear every day if he so wished. Julien absolutely loved it, but he had been silent for too long.

            “It is truly alright if you do not like it,” Henri said apologetically, breaking the silence.

            “No, no, Henri, I love it! It is perfect, _ami_ , thank you!” Jumping up, he put it on, and looked in the mirror. It fit him perfectly, but there was a good amount of room left in the seams for it to be let out as he grew.

            Julien laughed at his dashing self in the mirror. “But where did you get my measurements, Henri?”

            Henri was abashed. “I asked your mother for them. I – Julien I wanted you to be able to stand out from the crowd. To rebel against the norm, if you will. I want you to look like a – like a _revolutionary_. I know it is an odd choice of present, but – ”

            “Nonsense, _cheri_ , it is wonderful! I shall wear it very often. Thank you, again. In fact, I believe I shall wear it tonight.”

            “Oh no, Julien, it is not nearly fine enough for such a ball!”

            “Henri, it is _my_ birthday and I shall wear what I wish!” Julien said with a lordly tilt of the head, happily playing the advantage of the day.

            Then he burst out in a smile. “But come, dear, let us go down to breakfast! No doubt they have been waiting for us.”

            There was more than his family waiting at breakfast – there was the breakfast itself. All of Julien’s favourite things were served. Hot croissants with apple-butter, crepes with butter and sugar, strawberries, and anything else you could possible want for breakfast. Best of all was the café au lait, in Henri’s opinion. They were simple things, true, but that was how Julien liked it.

            All the morning was spent in talk, and the day flew by. At around 4 o’clock, everyone retired to ready themselves for the party. Henri did not see his friend again for nearly three hours as the family attended to their toilettes. Henri bathed and shaved (he did not yet need a shave very often, but wanted to look fresh tonight). His footman attended to his clothes, and combed his hair. Henri was not used to that sort of attention. When the footman tried to attack his hair with a curling iron, he had to use his utmost control to refuse him graciously. His hair curled quite tightly naturally as it dried, though the footman was not to know that, and Henri was deathly afraid of being burned and singed by a coal-heated iron. Finally, he was dressed and presentable in a turquoise colored waistcoat and his best tailcoat, cravat tied in an elegant knot about his throat.

            He dismissed the servant and went to knock at Julien’s door. The footman attending Julien answered, and told Henri rather dismissively that Julien was still dressing. Julien, however, came rushing to the door in his shirtsleeves to greet his friend. “Nonsense, Gaspard,” he told his footman, “Henri is welcome at any time. Come, Henri, talk with me while I dress.” And so he came into Julien’s room and sat on the bed as Julien dressed. They talked idly, not wishing for a real conversation to be heard by the footman.

            Henri noticed that Julien’s mind seemed to be dwelling on something else. Sure his friend was simply worried about the night to come, Henri said teasingly, “I suppose there will be endless aunts and uncles for you to speak with tonight. Why, we shall hardly see each other, I am sure, for all of the congratulations and pretty young ladies that will doubtless be heaped upon you.”

            Julien’s answer was shockingly bitter. “I wish those sycophantic fools would stop thrusting their daughters at me. It’s always like this.” Then, as if to himself, “I never should have let my mother talk me into this.”

            Henri was extremely concerned. He could not have known the turmoil in Julien’s soul, but still Julien was agonizing over how to tell Henri his feelings. “Julien, what is wrong?” Henri asked in surprise. He did not know where this black mood had come from.

            Julien, finally seeing that he had painted his heart upon his sleeve, smiled reassuringly and laughed. “It is of no matter. There are certain cousins I should rather not see, shall we say. Worry not, friend. We shall have a wonderful evening nonetheless. Gaspard, where are those brass cufflinks?”

            It was clear that the conversation was over, but Henri was unconvinced. Julien’s cheerfulness was forced. He knew his friend well enough to know something was amiss, but he could not ask outright with Gaspard in the room. Servants never had much discretion.

            Julien turned the conversation to horses and finished dressing. Henri had to admit that his blond friend looked absolutely glorious. Golden curls shone like the sun and blue eyes glimmered, deep and bright. The scarlet waistcoat would stand out against the masses of dull colors. Julien’s clothes were like his soul that night – unlike any others. It seemed as if Julien’s spirit and passion for life and for his ideals were emblazoned upon his person.

            Henri felt something stir deep within him as he gazed upon his friend, and he felt suddenly that he could weep for joy. Julien – Oh, how he _loved_ his Julien! He ached for him. He ached to please him, and to have his approval, and to kiss him, and to hold him close forever. He wished never to be parted from him.  He wished to say all of these things to the one he loved, but instead he said, “You look wonderful,” and left it at that.

            They smiled at one another. “Merci boucoup, mon ami. And so do you. Thank you, Gaspard.” The man left the room upon his dismissal, and Henri stood. Julien crossed to his green-eyed friend and kissed him gently on the cheek. Julien then frowned thoughtfully at Henri, and the brunette thought perhaps he was going to tell him what ailed him. “Henri, I – ” Then he smiled, and shook his head, looking away. “Shall we go down? The guests will be arriving soon.”

            Henri nodded, unwilling to press his friend. If he did not wish to speak of his woes, Henri would not force him to do so, especially if it would ruin his night. Smiling amiably, he took his friend’s arm and descended into the ballroom.


	12. The Ball

The ballroom had been stunningly transformed. Lights twinkled everywhere and the entire space glowed invitingly. Henri felt as if he had stepped into a fairy forest. The musicians had already begun their initial set, and the first guests were arriving. Out of the corner of his eye, Henri saw Julien take a deep breath and affix a smile on his face before descending the staircase to meet his guests. Henri could not leave him, knowing they would soon be separated for hours, and tagged along to greet the group that had just arrived.

The party consisted of an old woman and a young one, who was clinging nervously to the arm of a young gentleman. The old woman was clad in a ridiculously old-fashioned ball gown and a powdered wig, of all things. One would have thought she had come straight from the court at Versailles in Marie Antoinette’s day. Her face was powdered white and her cheeks and lips smeared with rouge. It was all Henri could do not to laugh.

Julien had clearly met this woman before, and was not struggling with the shock of first seeing such an apparition. Still, he did not seem particularly happy to see her.

Great Aunt Marlena, for that was who she was, strode flamboyantly over to Julien and pinched his cheeks, exclaiming at his age, and how generally well he looked. Julien bore it gracefully.

Glancing around for a way out of the situation, Julien spied Henri standing next to him. He seemed visibly relieved, and gently interrupted the fawning tirade. “Oh, Aunt Marlena, have you met my dear friend, Monsieur Henri Combeferre? Monsieur Combeferre, this is my Great Aunt Marlena.”

Henri suddenly found himself the victim of an extremely vicious attack on his cheeks. For Julien, though, he would bear the pinching. He smiled and said, “Very pleased to make your acquaintance, Madame.”

“Oh, charmed, dear, charmed. Julien, my dear, what family did you say your friend was from? Chenonceaux?” Both boys cringed at the hated name, but Great Aunt Marlena didn’t seem to notice. “They are a very nice family, and one of the boys, Didier, I think it was, is really going to be quite something. We think he’ll become a favorite in the King’s court. A promising youth, very promising. Do you know him, cheri?”

Julien interjected sharply. “No, Aunt Marlena. Henri’s family name is Combeferre.”

Aunt Marlena continued on obliviously, as if Henri was not there. “Combeferre, did you say? Why I’ve never heard the name in my life, my dear, you simply _must_ be _mistaken_.”

Julien’s eyes glinted with a cold rage. Not only had his Aunt _dared_ to mention the name of that hated boy, but had praised him, mistaken him as a relation of Henri’s, and then insulted Henri beyond measure by implying that his family was of no importance. It was through sheer willpower that he maintained his composure. “No, Madame. I assure you that my friend knows his own name,” he said measuredly.

Luckily for everyone, the young gentlemen with the nervous looking girl on his arm diverted the conversation. What would have happened otherwise  would most likely have been disastrous.

“My dear cousin Julien,” said the young man. Have you met my fiancée, Madeleine de Monmartre?”

The girl smiled shyly at Julien and proffered her gloved hand, which Julien took and kissed properly, with a bow. “I am enchanted, Madamoiselle.”

“Madeleine is a very accomplished young lady. You simply _must_ play the pianoforte for us, my darling! Julien, she is astounding!”

The girl smiled, and blushed furiously. She swatted at her fiancé’s arm with her fan. “Constantine! Don’t be silly!”

“Ah, but I am always silly in your presence, my dear. I cannot help myself. I am lovesick to the core!”

The couple exchanged a tender look. Julien’s heart clenched in his throat. How he wished he could look at Henri that way in public. At that moment, Aunt Marlena spied another victim across the ballroom and waddled away as quickly as she could, calling out to a young girl and her mother. Presently, the orchestra stuck up a lively waltz, and Julien’s cousin swept his fiancée onto the dance floor. As guests arrived, everyone came to give Julien his congratulations. Uncles, aunts, cousins, friends, friends of cousins, business partners of uncles, wives of business partners, children of couples – it was a never-ending slough of cant.

Henri tried his best to stay by Julien through it all, but soon found himself obliged to dance a minuet with a young lady without a partner, and it was all downhill from there. The dark-haired boy was caught in a whirlwind of light, color, music, laughter, and snippets of conversation. He was bumped to and fro, here and there, introduced himself countless times to faces he would never see again, and didn’t catch a glimpse of Julien all the while. No wonder his friend had been dreading this. Parties were arduous work!

After what seemed like a dozen unwelcome dances with young ladies whose names he would never remember, Henri escaped into a dark, cool hallway with a glass of wine. The darkness and relative quiet was a relief. He was alone but for a rather preoccupied couple several yards down the hall. He paid them no mind. Absolutely exhausted, Henri sank to the floor in a heap, and gulped downed his cool wine. His throat was parched. It was hot in that ballroom, and he had to scream over the din to be heard.

Taking out his handkerchief, he patted at his forehead, then took off his spectacles to knead the bridge of his nose. He curled up, crossing his arms about his legs, and rested his head on his knees, breathing deeply. How he wished that Julien were with him. How he wished that he could ease his friend’s mind, and take him away from all of this. To be alone together, away from the cacophony of cant and the drunken squeals of laughter. If only “polite” society would depart from these stiffly structured social institutions, and allow people to simply be themselves. Allow couples to hold hands to their own music, and friends to meet without worry of being judged. For all of the wealth and glamour in the ballroom tonight, no one in attendance could be said to be truly free. And wasn’t freedom worth more than material wealth? The world was upside down that it did not see its folly. A revolution was in order. To free men from the grips of poverty, and to free others from the grips of social taboo. Soon. Soon the revolution would come.

Presently, the orchestra finished its last piece of the set, and supper was announced. Henri stood gravely and set his shoulders. Time to face what was to come.

As Henri entered the dining room, he was shown to his seat. Much to his surprise, he was seated at the right of the head of the table, next to Julien. It was not often that people who knew each other were seated next to one another. Parties were opportunities for socializing, and that usually demanded a seating chart that would mix people into unlikely pairs. Henri was seated just as Julien entered the room, and Julien winked kindly at his friend, and stood behind his chair.

When the noise had died down, and everyone seemed to be in their place, Julien, still standing, cleared his throat. All present gave him their attention, and Julien began his speech.

“Thank you, everyone, for coming. I am glad to have you here with me to celebrate my fifteenth birthday. I am sure that I could expound upon my feelings of gratitude for hours, but I do not believe boring you into a puddle would be particularly endearing. Therefore, my good friends and cousins, please enjoy your meal, and trust that the brevity of my address is not a slight, but an act of love, and a complement to your appetites. Bon appétit.”

Everyone seemed visibly relieved that they had not been made to listen to a long-winded thank you speech, and supper was served. Julien glanced quickly at Henri with a knowing smile, and nudged his knee under the table. Henri could not have been happier for a break in their ordeal.

They chatted politely with the guests seated near them, but neither boy paid much attention to anyone but his friend. When supper finally settled to an end, Julien had been absently stroking Henri’s palm under the table for full fifteen minutes, and they had a sense that they had stood up together against a formidable force, and come through to the other side. They were comrades in arms, fighting all pressures to succumb to societal expectations. They were positively jubilant at a battle won without offending anyone’s sensibilities.

So, as the music began again in the ballroom, and couples began to filter off to dance, Julien and Henri quietly slipped away, giggling giddily (and perhaps a little bit drunkenly) at their triumph.

“Did you see Cousin Matthieu’s ridiculous affectation?!” Julien exclaimed in a stage whisper, positively bubbling with glee, as the pair escaped down a darkened hallway. “You’d have thought he’d just been named King of the Ottomites for all his carrying on, and not just an assistant clerk at the magistrate!”

At this, Julien was consumed with another fit of laughter and, clutching his sides, he leaned into his friend, who was in a similar state. Gasping for breath, they slid down a wall to sit panting on the floor in tired contentment, still grinning ear to ear. After a moment, however, Julien realized that he was practically sitting in Henri’s lap and, blushing, he moved to stand. Henri only held him closer. Nuzzling into Julien’s smooth, white neck, he whispered conspiratorially. “Let’s escape all this. We can go out to the gardens and lie in the grass behind the rose hedges. Stare up at the stars.”

Julien was inclined to agree, and let himself be held close for a moment longer, basking in the warmth of his dearest friend’s touch, breathing in his clean, earthy scent. This time, though, he pulled away, and stood. He held out a hand to his dark-haired friend. “Come. We must return to the party. The guests will be leaving soon, and they will wish to bid me adieu. You would not have me neglect my duties?”

Henri stood to face his friend, and gave him a wistful little smile. “I would if I could. I would keep you all to myself.” But Henri contented himself with a little peck on Julien’s cheek, and turned away to straighten his waistcoat and cravat.

“You would?” Julien asked his friend, a queer expression on his face.

Henri swiveled back around to face Julien, confused, having forgotten what he had said. “Would what?”

“You… you said you would keep me all to yourself if you could,” Julien whispered, almost in a daze.

Henri’s eyes widened and he looked his friend up and down. What was wrong with Julien? He seemed so… so vulnerable. Henri was unaccustomed to seeing doubt in his fearless revolutionary’s eyes. But there it was, along with another emotion, difficult to place. Though… it looked decidedly like… _longing_. Could it be that Julien longed for Henri as Henri longed for Julien?

Furrowing his brown in determination, Julien continued on courageously, even without an answer. “What if… what if I told you I wanted you to – to keep me all to yourself? What if I told you that I wanted to give all of myself to you? And that I pine for every part of you, in turn?” As he spoke, he moved closer to his green-eyed companion.

“Julien…” Henri breathed. They were so close now that they could feel each other’s breath on their skin. Eyes met, and their gaze could not be broken. Understanding thickened in the inch of air between them, and soon they realized that air was the only thing holding them apart.

Desperately, their lips crashed together, all reason flying out the window. They did not care for the guests. They did not care that they could be caught at any moment. All they felt was their searing need, thrumming between them. Hearts pounded, cheeks burned, fingers wandered and, panting, the boys pressed their bodies impossibly close, as if they could melt together and become one.

Then, all in a moment, the music came to an end in the ballroom and there was a loud clatter in the kitchens below. The boys flew apart, startled. But they relaxed as a waltz began, and they realized nothing was amiss. Still panting, they looked at each other and chuckled nervously.

An awkward silence pressed in around them for a moment until Julien, setting his jaw, spoke. “Henri, follow me and play along. I am afraid our guests will have to see themselves out tonight.”

Julien marched towards the ballroom and Henri trailed in his wake, curious to find out what Julien had planned. Just as they reached the ballroom, Julien flung an arm about Henri’s shoulders and leaned weakly into his support. Henri understood. Setting his expression to one of genuine concern, Henri led his indisposed friend into the ballroom.

“Take me to my mother, Henri,” Julien murmured into the brunette’s ear. Henri complied, and began to help Julien towards where his mother stood by the grand staircase. As they wended their way through the crowd, concerned family members began to crowd in around them, wondering if Julien was alright.

“Julien is not feeling well. It has been an exciting night, but I assure you he will be well with a good rest.” Still, people flocked around, and the rumor that the man of the evening was gravely ill spread like wildfire. By the time they reached Clarice, a sizeable crowd had gathered, everyone shouting orders at everyone else to fetch a doctor, or a glass of water, or a fan.

Thankfully, Clarice knew just how to diffuse the situation. She called a footman to carry Julien up the stairs, and the boys promptly escaped the nattering crowd. Meanwhile, Clarice assured the endless masses of aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends of step-aunts-in-law’s fathers that her son would be quite well in the morning, thanked everyone for their concern, and encouraged them to return to the dance floor. In a very few minutes, everyone was back to their business as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. And Julien and Henri were safe upstairs.

The footman had been very concerned about Julien’s wellbeing, but Henri assured him that he had the situation under control. His father was a doctor, and he was absolutely sure that  Julien needed only rest, but “Thank you, I will ring if any assistance is needed.” At long last, the footman left, mollified now that he had done his duty.

They waited until they heard the footman’s steps recede into the distance. Then, they burst out into jovial laughter.

“Oh, Henri, _mon ami_ , what wonderful acting!”

“Me? Why, I am not the one who had to be carried up the stairs, utterly limp!”

Julien giggled coyly and tackled Henri to the bed. Henri kicked off his shoes and they lied facing each other, still grinning headily with their triumph. “I _was_ good, wasn’t I?”

Henri smiled radiantly and nuzzled his freckled nose against Julien’s. Their foreheads touched, and dark curls intermingled with fair ones. “Yes. You were wonderful. You _are_ wonderful.”

Julien felt so happy he could burst. His nerves fizzed pleasantly, like champagne, and he simply could not help but kiss. Holding Henri close, he peppered his friend’s face with sweet kisses. Cheeks, nose, forehead, eyelids, ear – anything he could reach. Henri flushed under the attention, and Julien thought his pink face was heart-breakingly adorable.

“Mmmh, Henri,” Julien murmured dreamily between lazy kisses and nuzzles. “My lovely Henri. Beautiful, handsome, smart, lovely Henri. Love... Love… Love... Love you.”

Henri had had enough of being admired, however, and took Julien’s face between his palms to kiss him firmly on the mouth.  Julien did not mind a bit, but for the usual awkwardness as Henri’s spectacles interfered. But that was quickly remedied, and the young lovers continued to kiss lazily, tongues sliding slickly against one another amidst pleasured hums.

After a while, Henri pulled away to nibble gently at Julien’s jaw. “Julien, darling, how did your mother know not to call a doctor? How did she know that you were not genuinely ill, I mean?”

“My mother knows I haven’t such a weak constitution and – well, to tell you the truth, Henri, she knows about…erm… how I feel… about you.”

Henri’s eyes darted sharply up to meet Julien’s, displaying a tenuous mixture of hope and fear. “You mean..? Well, Julien, I must ask – and be plain with me – how exactly _do_ you feel about me?”

“Oh, Henri, you _know_ I love you, heart, soul, mind and body,” Julien gushed. Still, he hesitated in saying what had yet to be said. “But… ah… what my mother noticed was that… Shall we say, when I look at you, Henri, it is often with no small amount of lust.” Julien was scarlet with mortification, and he rushed to qualify his statement, “Oh, I know you may not feel the same way, Henri, but I felt I must tell you the truth and – ”

Julien was unable to finish, as Henri crushed his mouth to Julien’s and kissed him with a fervor he had never felt in all his life. Julien loved him! And Julien wanted him! Julien was his, and he was Julien’s!

Breaking away, panting, words tumbled from Henri’s lips in his mad rush to assure Julien he returned his sentiments. “Oh, _amour_! My darling, darling Julien I _do_ feel the same. Be my Achilles or be my Patroclus! I care not which, just love me!” They kissed again, with searing heat, desperate for one another.

Blood sung in their veins, and there was a mad fumbling at clothing, and Henri had his hand up Julien’s shirt, needing to touch his perfect skin. But then it wasn’t enough and he was obliged to pull away to properly unbutton the offending article of clothing. Julien had already removed his suit coat, waistcoat, shoes, and stockings when the footman had put him to bed, so all Henri needed to focus on was Julien’s shirt buttons. Julien, however, had also decided to focus on his buttons, and two frantic pairs of hands on one fastening weren’t doing any good, so Henri batted away Julien’s hands and continued to bare the blond boy’s beautiful lean chest.

“God, you’ve no idea how many times I’ve thought about this,” Henri muttered as he struggled with a particularly difficult button.

Julien, who had somehow managed to sit up and nip at Henri’s neck while his shirt was being undone, looked at Henri in happy amazement. “You’ve thought about this?”

Henri blushed, but nodded. “Of course I have. How could I not? You’re gorgeous.”

Julien, tired of waiting, tugged his shirt off halfway undone, flung it across the room, and pulled Henri into another fierce kiss. “I have too,” he said with a shy smile. Henri beamed in triumph and, trying to kiss Julien and unbutton his suit coat at the same time, leaned in and bumped his nose against his love’s. They laughed together, breathy with need.

“Why don’t I take off my clothes and you yours, and it’ll move more quickly,” Julien said sensibly, already tentatively tugging at his trouser fastenings.  As rapidly as Henri was shedding his layers, Julien, who had been half-undressed already, was finished first. Embarrassed at his nudity, he dove under the bedclothes before Henri could see him and watched as Henri’s beautiful skin was bared. “What have you thought about?” Julien ventured, feeling suddenly timid. “When you thought about… this?”

Henri glanced up from unfastening his trousers and turned to look at Julien in bed. Seeing his love ready for him nearly killed him. His pupils blown wide and heart racing, Henri tugged off his remaining clothing and climbed onto the bed. “How about I show you?” Without further ado, Henri proceeded to straddle Julien where he lay beneath the coverlet and kiss him within an inch of his life.

Henri knew not what had caught hold of him, but his wild longing for Julien threw every sensible thought to the winds. He could not feel fear. He could not feel shame. All there was in the world was his Julien. Scarlet lips warm and pliant beneath his own. Golden curls, glinting in the lamplight. Cheeks, highly coloured and hot to the touch. Creamy pale skin glowing, radiating warmth and light. Flashes of blue eyes from beneath a delicate fringe of white lashes. The sweet little sounds he made as Henri ravished his mouth.

Julien’s strong fingers fisted in Henri’s chestnut curls and Henri’s hands wandered, mapping every inch of the boy he had come to love. The bedclothes had long been shoved away and forgotten, and the Henri pressed Julien down to lie beneath him. Pulling away at last, gasping for breath, he stared down at Julien, drinking in the sight. He was absolutely debauched, curls in disarray, flushed and sweaty. His cock, more perfect than Henri had ever imagined it, curved upward, thick and hot.

“You are so beautiful,” the dark-haired boy whispered in awe, stroking absently up and down Julien’s chest.

Julien leaned up and captured his love’s lips in a sloppy, needy kiss. “Touch me,” he breathed. Henri was only too happy to oblige. Pulling Julien into another fierce kiss, he lowered his golden head onto the pillow and reached between their bodies to palm Julien’s aching hardness.

“ _Ohhh_!” Julien groaned into Henri’s mouth, canting his hips into his friend’s grip. Henri hissed, half in pleasure and half in pain, as Julien’s fingernails dug into his shoulder blades. Then, scrambling to give Henri pleasure in return, Julien reached down to touch Henri. Pulling Henri’s hips down onto his own, he lent his grip to their mutual bliss. They thrust together, delighting in the delicious chafe of cock against cock, slick with pre-cum.

“Ahhh, Julien!” cried Henri as the blond thumbed over the head of his cock. Desperately close now, he bit down onto Julien’s neck, giving a strangled moan.

“Nng, God, Henri. So close,” Julien panted, bucking into his friend’s hand.

Then, being young and hot-blooded, Henri came hard onto Julien’s abdomen with a strangled cry. Julien followed closely after, thrusting into the wet heat between them.

Henri collapsed atop his love and, for a moment, they simply lied there, heaving in great gulps of air. Then, with a loving kiss, the dark-haired boy rolled off Julien and lied on his back, staring up at the ceiling in a pleasured daze. Julien nuzzled closer. Nestling his head in the crook of Henri’s neck and shoulder, Julien sighed in contentment and wiped up their mess with the abandoned sheets. He’d have them cleaned later. Julien took Henri’s hand in his and began absently tracing patterns on his palm, every now and then bringing it to his lips.

They lay like that for a long while, pressed side to side, while Julien kissed Henri’s fingertips,  his warm palm, a narrow wrist, his pale forearm, freckled shoulder, and eventually his mouth once more. Languidly, they kissed, memorizing each other’s mouths – every tooth and every ridge, and whatever they liked one another to do best. They were still like that perhaps a quarter of an hour later. Julien had straddled Henri and was lying atop him, nipping at his pulse point, while Henri stroked up and down his smooth back. A gentle breeze swept across their skin through the open window.

Julien leaned up to kiss Henri on the mouth. He did not think he would ever tire of kissing those sweet lips, or feeling Henri’s warm breath on his face. He could never have enough of Henri. Breaking away, he looked down at his love. Henri still looked like pure sex. His dark brown curls, gleaming reddish in the candle light, were mussed and sweat-dampened. His lean body, firm beneath Julien’s own, radiated warmth. The adorable freckles that usually dusted across Henri’s cheeks and the bridge of his nose were irresistible on his flushed face. He looked so innocent… but he definitely was not. Julien smirked wickedly at the thought, and his cock twitched with renewed interest.

Henri noticed. “Why are you looking at me so?”

“Because I want you so,” Julien said simply, leaning down to kiss Henri quiet.

            Henri threw his head back with a delicious moan as Julien reached down to stroke him to hardness. “Julien, darling, you want to..?”

            “Do it again? Yes.”

            Pupils dilating, Henri surged up to kiss Julien hotly, affirming that the interest was mutual. Henri immediately took control, pushing Julien to lie beneath him on the bed. He kissed him with an intensity new to both of them and ground his hips against his love’s. Both relished the friction.

           “Ahhh… Henri…” Julien drawled in pleasure, grinding his filling cock against the skin of Henri’s hip. “Henri, wait, wait,” he said suddenly, gently pushing the brunette away.

            Henri pulled back sharply, fearing he had hurt Julien. “Julien, what is the matter?”

            Julien shook his head rapidly, reassuring his lover. “No, nothing… it’s just… Don’t you want to… ah… try something else?”

           Henri’s cheeks burned as a thousand filthy things flashed into his mind. Looking into Julien’s wide blue eyes, he gulped. “What did you have in mind?” he asked carefully.

            “I do not quite know,” he admitted blushfully, eyes downcast. “I had thought you might know more than I.”

            Henri’s heart was in his throat. He knew what he wanted, but he was afraid to ask. What would Julien think of him? “There… there is a thing that I know of.”

            The blond boy looked up at his love, complete trust in his eyes, willing him to continue.

            “You see… ah… there is a place inside of a man whereby he can receive pleasure. It feels… excellent. Almost as good as touching here.” Henri ghosted his hand over Julien’s prick, eliciting a little hiss.

            “So you want to take me, Henri?” Julien asked, and Henri blushed furiously at his frankness, embarrassed. “That’s alright,” Julien said with a reassuring smile, reaching up to cup Henri’s cheek, “I want you to take me, too. I want to give you all of me. I want to feel you.”

            Henri looked visibly relieved, and his eyes sparked in anticipation. He kissed Julien hard, assuring his love he would do his very best for him. “Do you – ” Henri cleared his throat nervously, “ – do you have any oil or..?”

            Julien leaned over to rummage in his bedside drawer and came up with a pot of hand cream. It would have to do. Henri nodded, and Julien handed it to Henri, looking unsure of himself. “Ahem… what do I do now, Henri?”

            Henri gave Julien a swift peck on the lips and gestured towards the head of the bed. “Lie back, love, and spread your legs for me.” Julien did as he was told, and made himself comfortable on the pillows. Henri slicked his fingers with the hand cream and crawled nearer to Julien, who was lying flushed and ready for him.

            Henri swallowed hard and, green eyes wide, he drank in the beautiful sight of his love debauched. “I’m going to stretch you now, amour. Just relax. It will be easier that way.”

            Julien nodded and shut his eyes, and Henri gently parted the blond boy’s pert buttocks and pressed a finger to his tight entrance. Julien jumped slightly at Henri’s wet touch in such an intimate place. “S’cold,” he muttered by way of explanation, but did not object to Henri’s ministrations. And, although the dark-haired boy kicked himself internally for forgetting to warm their makeshift lubricant between his hands before touching Julien, he felt that the other boy was quite willing to continue. So, ever so slowly, Henri kneaded Julien’s entrance and worked a finger inside.

Julien drew deep breaths at the intrusion and his cock throbbed with arousal. His fingers drifted towards his aching prick, but he refused to touch himself until Henri was inside of him, knowing himself well enough to know he could not last very long.

“Is this alright?” Henri asked, working his finger slowly in and out of Julien.

“Yes, it’s good, Henri. Keep going. I can take another,” Julien said with a little cant of the hips. Henri, pleased to find that his love was enjoying the new sensation, eased another slick finger into Julien’s tight heat. After wriggling his fingers and stretching Julien’s opening, Henri searched for the nub he knew would give Julien such pleasure. The green-eyed lad did not wish his love to be uncomfortable in the slightest, and if he could just find –

“ _Oh_ ,” was Julien’s response when Henri pressed the secret place. Rapidly, Henri repeated the action, and he had Julien bucking wildly into his touch within moments, moaning unintelligibly. 

“God, Henri, what is that?! _Ah!_ ” Henri thought he had never seen anything so beautiful as the perfect arch of Julien’s back. Julien continued to speak, words tumbling from his lips to float away on the wind unheeded. But their meaning was not unheeded. And Henri was more than willing to oblige Julien’s requests. “More, more, more,” the golden-haired youth began to chant quietly – like a prayer. Gently as always, Henri slid a third finger in beside the others. Julien groaned sinfully at the stretch. The dark haired boy thought he might just cum from the sound. The sound of his Julien moaning his name.

            Ever so slowly, Henri moved his fingers apart, easing Julien wider. He whispered praise and endearments, kissing and petting whatever skin he could reach. Finally, just when Henri did not think he would be able to wait any longer, Julien cried out, “Henri, take me now. Now, love, I’m ready.”

            Henri slipped his fingers out and leaned up to kiss Julien hard on the mouth. “You’re sure?” he asked. But Julien’s eyes conveyed only trust and longing – no fear.

            “Yesss,” the blond youth hissed, throwing his head back onto the pillows and jerking his hips upward to collide with Henri’s. The green-eyed boy took that to be a definite affirmation of their mutual desire, and wasted no more time. After coating himself liberally with lubricant, Henri positioned himself at Julien’s entrance and pushed slowly into his delicious, tight heat.

            Both boys groaned loudly. Fully sheathed, Henri paused for a moment, panting, to look down at his beautiful Julien. Julien would not have that, however and, fisting his fingers in Henr’s chestnut curls, he pulled him down into a heated kiss. “Move,” the blond groaned as he broke away from Henri’s mouth, wrapping his legs around his waist. And Henri did.

            They rocked together gently at first, but gradually they increased their pace. There were no more words to be said. Their bodies, in tune with each other, instinctively knew how to give what the other needed. Henri wrapped his fist around Julien’s throbbing length and stroked it in time with his thrusts, much to Julien’s pleasure. In ecstasy, Julien cried out incoherently and scrabbled at Henri’s back, surely marring Henri’s skin with lovely red scratches. Henri did not mind in the least.

            Overwhelmed by the onslaught of stimulation – both from within and from without – Julien spent himself first, gasping his love’s name. Henri followed a moment after, giving into the clench of Julien’s body as he tensed in pleasure.  He thrust several more times into Julien’s willing body, riding out his climax. Then, having cum for the second time in under an hour, Henri collapsed atop his beloved, exhausted.

            There was a long moment of exquisite silence, punctuated only by the sound of labored breathing, and both young men felt as if their souls had run together, never to be separated again. With a soft groan, Henri slid out of Julien and flopped down by his side, nestling his head into the crook of his neck and shoulder. Julien’s gut clenched in a mixture of embarrassment and pride as he felt Henri’s hot seed drip out of him and onto the sheets.

            However, feeling happier than he had ever been in his memory, the golden youth could not help but pull Henri to him in a joyful kiss. Grinning at one another, they kissed lightly, reveling in the simple touch of skin – the familiar smells and glowing warmth. Positively fizzing with joy, they giggled and touched and held each other close and nothing needed to be said because everything already had been. After a while, someone thought it sensible to clean up a bit, but after they had done this, they collapsed into bed without a care in the world, and drifted off to sleep in a glorious haze of love.


	13. Together, We Stand

The next morning (rather, the next afternoon, for no one in the house had awoken at their usual hour), the post arrived while the family sat at breakfast.

            “Here, Henri, my lad,” said Monsieur Enjolras, “you’ve a letter.”

            A servant handed it to the bespectacled boy and, seeing the handwriting, he exclaimed, “It’s from Papa!” He looked meaningfully at Julien and tore it open.

                        My dear boy,

                                    I apologize I have been so long in writing, but I wished

                                    to be sure of my position before I forwarded your good

                                    news. It just so happens that I am acquainted with the

                                    resident extremity surgeon at the Necker. (I did him a

                                    small favour during the war). I have been in touch with

                                    him these past few weeks and he has assured me

                                    that you will not only have a place at Decartes next fall,

                                     provided you pass your exams (as I am sure you will,

                                    with flying colors), but that you will have an internship

                                    at the hospital when you finish your Bac. He has told me

                                    that any son of mine would be most welcome at the

                                    finest institute of medicine in France, and that he will be

                                    more than willing to see to it that your university expenses

                                    are taken care of. I am sure we shall be ever in his debt.

                                     Congratulations, my dear boy, and I look forward to seeing

                                    you soon. Your mother, Jeanine, and Annette send their love.

                                                                                   

                                                            Your Loving Father,

                                                                                                M. Q. Combeferre

            “Henri, what is it?” Julien asked, touching his friend’s leg under the breakfast table. He had been watching pure excitement dawn on friend’s face during his perusal of the letter, and he was curious to know what was to be celebrated.

            Henri met Julien’s gaze, beaming with delight. “I’ve a place to study at Descartes next fall, and an internship at the Necker once I finish!”

            “Oh, _mon ami_ , congratulations!” cried Julien and, not caring that his parents and all of the servants could see, he embraced his freckled friend, wishing him only happiness. “You will make the most splendid physician, won’t he Maman?” said Julien in glee, turning to face his mother.

            “Of course you will, Henri. I do not know anyone better suited, what with how well you took care of my Julien last night.” She gave him a conspiratorial wink.

            Both boys looked at her, shocked, and flushed bright red. Monsieur Enjolras continued to read his mail as if nothing was amiss. And, really, nothing was. Clarice turned away and smiled secretly into her teacup, and the boys smiled secretly at one another. A new chapter had opened in their lives. And they would rise to meet its challenges together.

**Author's Note:**

> OK, you guys, I have been working on this, on and off, for about two years. It is the longest work I have ever written. Any feedback is appreciated.


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